I stared at Persival. He was trickery. He was death. He was insane devotion to an incomprehen- sible cause. He was a shooter of little silver pellets into the necks of the lovely and innocent.
“You dirty, murderous, crazy son of a bitch!” I said in a low and shaky voice.
He raised the reloaded weapon and aimed carefully from eight feet away at a spot on my forehead. I knew where the slug would strike. The spot felt round and icy.
I was convinced I was about to join Nicky.He knew he was going to die, and I could find no better last words than his.
“Chicken shit,” I said.
“Any questions, McGraw?”
“There’s nothing I want to know that you can answer.” I was watching the trigger finger. As soon as I saw pressure whiten it, I was going to dive for his ankles and try to come up with the weapon before Sammy and Ahman could blow me away.
“Any last statement, fisherman?”
“I will state that if you don’t make the first shot good, I’ll get my hands on you before you can fire that thing again.”
He looked at me for a long time, and then slowly lifted the barrel of the weapon until it pointed at the sky.
Y think my first hunch was correct, Brother Thomas. I think we can train you and find a use for you. I think you can become very valuable.”
I could feel the tension go out of all of us. Deep exhalations..
He put the weapon away. He turned to Sammy and reached for the picture. After Persival had e~c- amined it, he motioned me closer and handed it to me. I was on the right, in fuzzy focus, enough of the left side of my face showmg to make me recognizable. The barrel of the pistol was half raised to the perpendicular, the ineradicable habit pattern of people used to firing pistols and revolvers. Nick was
The Green Ripper near the left margin of the print, in sharp focus. He was going down, but his knee had not yet touched. His head was tilted back from impact, with the tiny death mark visible next to his nose.
Handing it back, I said, “Is this some kind of leverage?”
“It is, Brother Thomas, but not the way you think. Call it a verification of my instinct, useful when I go after permission for what I have in mind.”
‘I don’t know what you mean.”
“Ahman, arrange burial. Full roster except, of course, for Barry down on the gate. Have Haris read the service. I am going for a walk with Mr. McGraw.”
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11
Persival did not walk well. He moved slowly and seemed to have trouble with his balance. The sky was turning gray, and the wind was cooler. We walked to the end of the small plateau. He seated himself on the trunk of a large pine which had fallen at the edge of the slope.
He lowered himself carefully. With a wry Lincolnesque smile he said, “I have what the young call bad wheels. I was the guest for a memorable period of time of an amiable old park named Somoza. He had my legs broken.”
I sat astride the log about eight feet from him. “This,” he said, “is the ancient definition of the best
The Green Ripper kind of education, the pupil on one end of a log and the teacher on the other.”
“What do I ”
He stopped me with a raised hand. “Just let me ramble a bit. Answer me when I ask you a question. You would seem to know small boats and know the sea. And with your background, no one would question your interest in purchasing a certain sort of small boat.”
‘I don’t want to use my search money for a boat.”
“You are talking trivia, and when you do, you bore me.”
“I came here to find my kid. Maybe that’s boring to you, but it’s not to me.”
‘McGraw, you are going to have to learn how to accept discipline.”
‘fir. Persival, you can’t run me the same way you run those people of yours. I’ll answer you when you ask questions, and 111 answer the questions you don’t ask. I talk when I please.”