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But would that matter if he was dealing with a psycho? In an instant the Savior had changed from regular guy to mad dog. And why had he even bothered with the purse snatcher? If the Savior was a wanted felon, why would he interfere with a fellow criminal?

None of this made any sense.

He found the man leaning against the high chain link fence bordering the asphalt basketball courts. He started moving away as Sandy approached, motioning him to follow. Sandy caught up with him in a small grove of trees.

"Why here?"' he said, looking around and noticing that they were partially hidden from the rest of the park. He was uneasy now being alone with this man.

"Because your picture's been in the paper twice this week. Who knows when someone will recognize you?"

"Yeah?" Sandy said, suddenly aglow. Someone recognizing him on the street. How totally cool would that be. "I mean, yeah, sure, I see what you mean."

Sandy sensed that Mr. Hyde had disappeared. The Savior seemed to have returned to Dr. Jekyll mode.

"So tell me," the Savior said. "How are you going to change my lowly criminal life?"

Sandy held up a hand. "Wait. You tell me something first: What was all that business about your mother? She wasn't your mother."

"She could have been. My mother would be about her age if she'd survived."

"Survived what?"

"Death."

Sandy sensed a big sign saying PROCEED NO FURTHER, so he switched to the other question that was bothering him.

"All right then, tell me this: why did you, someone who supposedly wants to avoid the spotlight, get involved in that?"

He gave him a puzzled look. "How could I not? If he'd taken off the other way I wouldn't have run after him, but he was passing right in front of us. To let him sail by would be… like…" He seemed to be searching for the words. "It would make me into an accomplice—an accomplice in rolling a little old lady. Uh-uh."

Sandy stared at him and experienced a flash of insight that seemed to point the way toward getting a handle on this man.

"I think I understand you now," he said, nodding. "You can't tolerate disorder yet you're trapped in a world where everything is spi

"I'm not trapped anywhere."

"We all are. But you're doing something about it."

"Are you crazy?"

"Not at all. Look what just happened. A robbery. That's wrong. A prime example of the random disorder afflicting our lives."

"That is life. Been happening every minute of every day since some cave man decided he didn't feel like hunting and tried to steal his neighbor's brontoburger."

"But you made sure this one didn't happen. You reordered the disorder."

"Are you on drugs or did you run out of your medication? You make it sound like I'm out patrolling the streets trolling for wrongdoers. I'm not. This went down right in front of me. And he passed right by me. And I knew what I could do at no cost to myself. Period. End of story. End of discussion."

"But—"

"End. Of. Discussion."

"You ever heard of Nietzsche?"

"Sure. The music guy, right?"

"I doubt it. He was a philosopher."

"Jack Nitzsche? Nah. Used to play piano for the Stones."

"Friederich Nietzsche. Friederich."

"Fred Nitzsche? Who's he? Jack's brother? Never heard of him."

He's putting me on, Sandy thought. He's got to be. But his expression was deadpan.

"He's been dead about a hundred years," Sandy said. "I studied him in college. You really must read him. The Will to Power will crystallize so much of who you are."

"Crystallize… just what I need right now. To get crystallized. Look, forget philosophers and get down to you and me. What do I have to do to get you out of my life?"

Sandy felt as if he'd been slapped. "Hey, look, I'm trying to help you here."

"I think we both know who you're trying to help."

"Damn it, I can bring you in from the cold."

The Savior laughed. "You can what?"

"Are you wanted for anything besides that liquor store robbery?"

He stared at him. "Where's this going?"

"Just tell me."

"No."

"You're sure?"

"I haven't exactly been trying to draw attention to myself."

Sandy's mind raced, barely keeping up with his thumping heart. This was exactly what he'd hoped for. One crime—a felony, yes, but years ago when he was a teenager. Now he's grown, living on the fringe, but keeping his nose clean. A fugitive, an outcast, but when law-abiding citizens were under the gun, when their lives were in deadly peril, who stepped into the breach and saved them? This man, this criminal.

Oh, dear sweet Jesus, this has major motion picture written all over it. Got to secure the rights.

"I can get you amnesty!" Sandy blurted.

The Savior squatted and dropped his face into his hands. He rubbed his eyes. "I don't believe this."

He's overcome with emotion, Sandy thought.

"I can!" Sandy said. "I can start a campaign. Look at the lives you saved that night. How can they not grant you amnesty?"

"Very easy," he said, looking up at him now. "They just say no."

"They won't be able to say no. You don't know the power of the press. I'll make them bring you in from the cold."

The Savior rose to his feet again. "How do you know I don't like the cold? Maybe I'm a goddamn polar bear!"

"I don't believe that. Because nobody wants to be a nobody when they can be a somebody—a really big somebody!"

"You're wasting your time. And mine too." He turned and started moving off.

"Wait! You can't walk out on this! It's the chance of a lifetime!"

"For you, maybe." He didn't even look back. "I'm out of it."

Alarmed, Sandy started after him. He had to talk to him, had to change his mind. And then he stopped as he realized he didn't need his cooperation to do this. He could singlehandedly create a ground-swell of sympathy for the Savior… and he wouldn't have to stretch the truth in the slightest.

First, a piece telling how he'd spoken again to the Savior, and how the man had confessed that his real reason for not coming forward was that he's a wanted felon. Sandy would say nothing of the crime—didn't want the cops to scoop him by using police records to identify the Savior before he did—but would portray him as a decent man guilty of a single youthful mistake, who'd escaped prosecution years ago, but last week had repaid his debt to society in spades, repaid it in a ma

The words weren't just flowing, man, they were gushing!

The whole campaign was taking beautiful shape in his mind. He could see the other major papers being forced to take up the issue—whether pro or con, who cared?—and from there the debate would spread to the national news magazines like Time and Newsweek. If he could get this ball rolling it could carry him into People Magazine.

And once he achieved amnesty for the Savior, it would be up to the man himself to accept it or reject it. Either way, Sandy's debt to him would be paid.

He headed back to the subway, excitement spurring him to a trot. He couldn't wait to get started.