WATCHERS by Dean R. Koontz

grateful.”

“They won’t have kept records.”

“Yes, sir, but they might remember something.”

“They’re in the business of not remembering.”

“But the human mind never forgets, Don Tetragna. No matter how hard it tries, it

never really forgets.”

“How true. And you swear that the man you seek is not a member of any Family?”

“I swear it.”

“This execution must not in any way be traced to my Family.”

“I swear it.”

Don Tetragna closed his eyes again, but not for as long as he had closed them

before. When he opened them, he smiled broadly but, as always, it was a

humorless smile. He was the least jolly fat man Vince had ever seen. “When your

father married a Swedish girl rather than one of his own people, his family

despaired and expected the worst. But your mother was a good wife, unquestioning

and obedient. And they produced you—a most handsome son. But you’re more than

handsome. You’re a good soldier, Vincent. You have done fine, clean work for the

Families in New York and New Jersey, for those in Chicago, and also for us on

this coast. Not very long ago, you did me the great service of crushing the

cockroach Pantangela.”

“For which you paid me most generously, Don Tetragna,”

The Screwdriver waved one hand dismissively. “We’re all paid for our labors. But

we’re not talking money here. Your years of loyalty and good service are worth

more than money. Therefore, you are owed at least this One favor.”

“Thank you, Don Tetragna.”

“You’ll be given the names of those who provide such papers in this City, and

I’ll see that they are all forewarned of your visit. They’ll cooperate fully.”

“If you say they will,” Vince said, rising and bowing with only his head and

shoulders, “I know that it is true.”

The don motioned him to Sit down. “But before you attend to this private affair,

I’d like you to take another contract. There’s a man in Oakland who is giving me

much grief. He thinks I can’t touch him because he’s politically well connected

and well guarded. His name is Ramon Velazquez. This will be a difficult job,

Vincent.”

Vince carefully concealed his frustration and displeasure. He did not want to

take on a troublesome hit right now. He wanted to concentrate on tracking down

Travis Cornell and the dog. But he knew Tetragna’s contract was more a demand

than an offer. To get the names of the people who sold false papers, he must

first waste Velazquez.

He said, “I would be honored to squash any insect that has stung you. And

there’ll be no charge this time.”

“Oh, I’d insist on paying you, Vincent.”

As ingratiatingly as he knew how, Vince smiled and said, “Please, Don Tetragna,

let me do this favor. It would give me great pleasure.”

Tetragna appeared to consider the request, though this was what he expected—a

free hit in return for helping Vince. He put both hands on his enormous belly

and patted himself. “I am such a lucky man. Wherever I turn, people want to do

me favors, kindnesses.”

“Not lucky, Don Tetragna,” Vince said, sick of their mannered conversation. “You

reap what you sow, and if you reap kindness it is because of the seeds of

greater kindness you’ve sown so broadly.”

Beaming, Tetragna accepted his offer to waste Velazquez for nothing. The

nostrils of his porcine nose flared as if he had smelled something good to eat,

and he said, “But now tell me . . . to satisfy my curiosity, what will you do to

this other man when you catch him, this man with whom you have a personal

vendetta?”

Blow his brains out and snatch his dog, Vince thought.

But he knew the kind of crap The Screwdriver wanted to hear, the same hard-assed

stuff most of these guys wanted to hear from him, their favorite hired killer so

he said, “Don Tetragna, I intend to cut off his balls, cut off his ears, cut out

his tongue—and only then put an ice pick through his heart and stop his clock.”

The fat man’s eyes glittered with approval. His nostrils flared.

3

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