Страница 67 из 68
I saw Ma
I got out of the car. Conversation, I noticed, had come to a halt. The assembled people eyed me curiously. I took the attaché and walked confidently over to Ma
“I am an attorney, representing the estate of Manheim Lavi,” I said to her. In the suit, carrying the attaché, I felt I looked the part. And if the average lawyer carries himself stiffly at moments like this one, then that part of the act was spot-on, too, because I was having a hard time even looking at her.
She came to her feet. She was petite and very pretty, and, like many Filipinas, looked younger than she probably was.
“Yes?” she asked, in lightly accented English.
“Mr. Lavi left clear instructions with my firm, to be carried out in the event of his death. That certain funds were to be transferred to you, for the benefit of… your son.”
I knew Ma
The little boy ran over from his grandmother. He must have gotten spooked seeing his mother talking to a stranger. His arms were outstretched and he was saying, “Mama, Mama.”
The woman picked him up with some effort and he clutched her tightly. He had regressed, I noted, from the trauma of the news he must have just received. That’s normal, I told myself. That’s normal.
She shook her head. “Funds?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes. From Mr. Lavi’s estate. Here.”
I went to hand her the attaché, but she couldn’t take it with the boy in her arms.
I felt oddly light-headed. Maybe it was the heat, the humidity.
“This is yours,” I said, setting the case down in front of her. I cleared my throat again. “I hope… my firm hopes it will be helpful. And I am very sorry for your loss.”
The boy started to cry weakly. The woman stroked his back. I swallowed, bowed my head again, and turned to walk back to the car.
Christ, I almost felt sick. Yeah, it must have been the heat. I got in the car. As we drove away I looked back. They were all watching me.
We drove past the paddies, the indifferent farm animals. I sat slumped in the seat. In my head, the boy cried out, Mama, Mama, again and again, and I thought I might never stop hearing his voice.
We drove. The potholes in the road felt like craters.
“Stop,” I said to the driver. “Stop the car.”
He pulled over to the side of the dirt road. I opened the door and stumbled out, barely making it in time. I clutched the side of the door and leaned forward and everything inside me came up, everything. Tears were streaming down my face and snot was ru
Finally it subsided. I stood for a moment, sucking air, then wiped my face, spat, and got back in the car. The driver asked me if I was all right. I nodded. It was the climate, I said. You’d think I’d be used to it, but I’m not.
I had him take me to the airport. I didn’t know where I would go from there. Wherever it was, I knew that everything I’ve done, it would all be coming with me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
John Rain’s fans seem to think he keeps getting better (I, of course, prefer the phrase “even better”) as he goes along. To the extent this is so, I owe much to the advice and other support I continue to receive from a number of good people. My thanks to:
My agents, Nat Sobel and Judith Weber of Sobel Weber Associates, and my editor, David Highfill at Putnam, for helping me find the true notes and eliminate the false ones.
Michael Barson (master of Yubiwaza), Dan Harvey, and Megan Millenky at Putnam, for doing such an amazing job of getting out the word on John Rain.
Dexter Domingo, for giving me multiple insider’s tours of Manila; Ya
Jim Du
Massad Ayoob of the Lethal Force Institute, for sharing his awe-inspiring knowledge of and experience with firearms tools and tactics, and for helpful comments on the manuscript.
Tony Blauer, for again sharing with Rain his profound knowledge of the psychology, physiology, and tactics of violence.
The dreaded Carl, who thank God is still out there, for teaching me so much, for being the inspiration behind Dox, and for sharing his thoughts about “catch and release” programs.
Again and always, sensei Koichiro Fukasawa of Wasabi Communications, a singular window on everything Japan and Japanese, for years of insight, humor, and friendship, and for helpful comments on the manuscript.
Matt Furey, for providing the Combat Conditioning bodyweight exercises that Rain uses in this book to stay in top shape (and that his author uses, too).
Lori Kupfer, for years of friendship, for continued insights into what sophisticated, sexy women like Delilah wear and how they think, and for helpful comments on the manuscript.
Janelle McCuen, Miss Creative Force, for making sure that Rain knows his telephoto lenses.
Matt Powers, for once again ensuring that Rain knows his wines, for leading the good fight against “like” and “you know,” and for helpful comments on the manuscript.
Evan Rosen, M.D. Ph.D., and Peter Zimetbaum, M.D., for once again offering (reluctant) expert advice on some of the killing techniques in this book, and for helpful comments on the manuscript. Actually, I don’t think the advice is so reluctant anymore. I think they’re starting to enjoy it.
Ernie Tibaldi, a thirty-one-year veteran agent of the FBI, for continuing to generously share his encyclopedic knowledge of law enforcement and personal safety issues, and for helpful comments on the manuscript.
William Scott Wilson, for The Lone Samurai: The Life of Miyamoto Musashi, a book that represents a significant part of John Rain’s emerging philosophy.
The extraordinarily eclectic group of philosophers, badasses (mostly retired), and deviants who hang out at Marc Mac Young’s and Dia