Stephen put his hand on Jodie’s shoulder.

“I want to talk to you about what we’re going to do.”

“Okay, all right. I’m listening, partner.”

“There’s somebody out there looking for me.”

Jodie laughed. He said, “Seems to me after what happened back at that building there’s a buncha people looking for you.”

Stephen didn’t smile. “But there’s one person in particular. His name’s Lincoln.”

Jodie nodded. “That’s his first name?”

Stephen shrugged. “I don’t know… I’ve never met anyone like him.”

“Who is he?”

A worm…

“Maybe a cop. FBI. A consultant or something. I don’t know exactly.” Stephen remembered the Wife describing him to Ron – the way somebody’d talk about a guru, or a ghost. He felt cringey again. He slid his hand down Jodie’s back. It rested at the base of his spine. The bad feeling went away.

“This is the second time he’s stopped me. And he almost got me caught. I’m trying to figure him out and I can’t.”

“What do you have to figure out?”

“What he’s going to do next. So I can stay ahead of him.”

Another squeeze to the spine. Jodie didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t look away either. He wasn’t timid anymore. And the look he gave Stephen was odd. Was it a look of…? Well, he didn’t know. Admiration maybe…

Stephen realized that it was the way Sheila had looked at him in Starbucks when he was saying all the right things. Except that, with her, he hadn’t been Stephen, he had been somebody else. Somebody who didn’t exist. Jodie was now looking at him this way even though he knew exactly who Stephen was, that he was a killer.

Leaving his hand on the man’s back, Stephen said, “What I can’t figure out is if he’s going to move them out of their safe house. The one next to the building where I met you.”

“Move who? The people you’re trying to kill?”

“Yeah. He’s going to try to out-guess me. He’s thinking…” Stephen’s voice faded.

Thinking…

And what was Lincoln the Worm thinking? Would he move the Wife and the Friend, guessing I’ll try the safe house again? Or would he leave them, thinking I’ll wait and try for them at a new location? And even if he thinks I’ll try the safe house again, will he leave them there as bait, trying to sucker me back for another ambush? Will he move two decoys to a new safe house? And try to take me when I follow them?

The thin man said, almost whispering, “You seem, I don’t know, shook up or something.”

“I can’t see him… I can’t see what he’s going to do. Everybody else’s ever been after me I can see. I can figure them out. Him, I can’t.”

“What do you want me to do?” Jodie asked, swaying against Stephen. Their shoulders brushed.

Stephen Kall, craftsman extraordinaire, stepson of a man who never had a moment’s hesitation in anything he did – killing deer or inspecting plates cleaned with a toothbrush – was now confounded, staring at the floor, then looking up into Jodie’s eyes.

Hand on the man’s back. Shoulders touching too.

Stephen made up his mind.

He bent forward and rummaged through his backpack. He found a black cell phone, looked at it for a moment, then handed it to Jodie.

“Whatsis?” the man asked.

“A phone. For you to use.”

“A cell phone! Cool.” He examined it as if he’d never seen one, flipped it open, studying all the buttons.

Stephen asked, “You know what a spotter is?”

“No.”

“The best snipers don’t work alone. They always have a spotter with them. He locates the target and figures out how far away it is, looks for defensive troops, things like that.”

“You want me to do that for you?”

“Yep. See, I think Lincoln’s going to move them.”

“Why, you figure?” Jodie asked.

“I can’t explain it. I just have this feeling.” He looked at his watch. “Okay, here’s the thing. At one-thirty this afternoon, what I want you to do is walk down the street like a… homeless person.”

“You can say ‘bum,’ you want.”

“And watch the safe house. Maybe you could look through trash cans or something.”

“For bottles. I do that. All the time.”

“You find out what kind of car they get into, then call and tell me. I’ll be on the street around the corner, in a car, waiting. But you’ll have to watch out for decoys.”

An image of the red-haired woman cop came to mind. She could hardly be a decoy for the Wife. Too tall, too pretty. He wondered why he disliked her so much… He regretted not judging that shot at her better.

“Okay. I can do that. You’ll shoot them in the street?”

“It depends. I might follow them to the new safe house and do it there. I’ll be ready to improvise.”

Jodie studied the phone like a kid at Christmas. “I don’t know how it works.”

Stephen showed him. “You call me on it when you’re in position.”

“ ‘In position.’ That sounds professional.” Then Jodie looked up from the phone. “You know, after this’s over and I go through the rehab thing, why don’t we get together sometime? We could have some juice or coffee or something. Huh? You wanta do that?”

“Sure,” Stephen said. “We could -”

But suddenly a huge pounding shook the door. Spinning around like a dervish, whipping his gun from his pocket, Stephen dropped into two-handed shooting position.

“Open the fuckin’ door,” a voice from outside shouted. “Now!

“Quiet,” Stephen whispered to Jodie. Heart racing.

“You in there, booger?” the voice persisted. “Jodie. Where the fuck’re you?”

Stephen stepped to the boarded-over window and looked out again. The Negro homeless guy from across the street. He wore a tattered jacket that read Cats…The Musical. The Negro didn’t see him.

“Where’sa little man?” the Negro said. “I needa little man. I gotta have some pills! Jodie Joe? Where you be?”

Stephen said, “You know him?”

Jodie looked out, shrugged, and whispered, “I don’t know. Maybe. Looks like a lotta people on the street.”

Stephen studied the man for a long moment, thumbing the plastic grip of his pistol.

The homeless man called, “I know you here, man.” His voice dissolved into a gargle of disgusting cough. “Jo-die. Jo-die! It cos’ me, man. As’ wha’ it cos’ me. Cos’ me a fuckin’ weeka pickin’ cans’s what it cos’ me. They tole me you here. Ever-bod-y told me. Jodie, Jodie!”

“He’ll just go away,” Jodie said.

Stephen said, “Wait. Maybe we can use him.”

“How?”

“Remember what I told you? Delegate. This is good…” Stephen was nodding. “He looks scary. They’ll focus on him, not you.”

“You mean take him along with me? To that safe house place?”

“Yes,” Stephen said.

“I need some stuff, man,” the Negro moaned. “Come on. I’m fucked-up, man. Please. I got the wobblies. You fuck!” He kicked the door hard. “Please, man. You in there, Jodie? The fuck you at? You booger! Help me.” It sounded like he was crying.

“Go on out,” Stephen said. “Tell him you’ll give him something if he goes along with you. Just have him go through the trash or something across the street from the safe house, while you’re watching the traffic. It’ll be perfect.”

Jodie looked at him. “You mean now? Just go talk to him?”

“Yeah. Now. Tell him.”

“You want him to come in?”

“No, I don’t want him to see me. Just go talk to him.”

“Well… Okay.” Jodie pried the front door open. “What if he stabs me or something?”

“Look at him. He’s almost dead. You could beat the crap out of him with one hand.”

“Looks like he has AIDS.”

“Go on.”

“What if he touches -”

“Go!”

Jodie took a deep breath then stepped outside. “Hey, keep it down,” he said to the man. “What the hell you want?”

Stephen watched the Negro look over Jodie with his crazed eyes. “Word up you selling shit, man. I got money. I got sixty bucks. I need pills. Look, I’m sick.”