Persuader

was better adapted than me.
    There wasn't much to see after that. There were a few herring gulls far in the distance. I squinted against the glare and looked for signs of whales or dolphins and saw nothing. I watched mats of seaweed drift around on circular currents. At six-fifteen I heard Duke's footsteps in the corridor and the click of my lock. He didn't come in. He just tramped away again. I turned and faced the door and took a deep breath. Day thirteen, Thursday.
    Maybe that was better than day thirteen falling on a Friday. I wasn't sure. Whatever, bring it on. I took another breath and walked out through the door and headed down the stairs.
    Nothing was the same as the morning before. Duke was fresh and I was tired. Paulie wasn't around. I went down to the basement gym and found nobody there. Duke didn't stay for breakfast. He disappeared somewhere. Richard Beck came in to eat in the kitchen. There was just him and me at the table. The mechanic wasn't there. The cook stayed busy at the stove. The Irish girl came in and out from the dining room. She was moving fast. There was a buzz in the air. Something was happening.
    "Big shipment coming in," Richard Beck said. "It's always like this. Everybody gets excited about the money they're going to make."
    "You heading back to school?" I asked him.
    "Sunday," he said. He didn't seem worried about it. But I was. Sunday was three days away. My fifth full day there. The final deadline. Whatever was going to happen would have happened by then. The kid was going to be in the crossfire throughout.
    "You OK with that?" I asked.
    "With going back?" I nodded. "After what happened."
    "We know who did it now," he said. "Some assholes from Connecticut. It won't happen again."
    "You can be that sure?" He looked at me like I was nuts. "My dad handles stuff like this all the time. And if it's not done by Sunday, then I'll just stay here until it is."
    "Does your dad run this whole thing by himself? Or does he have a partner?"
    "He runs it all by himself," he said. His ambivalence was gone. He looked happy to be home, secure and comfortable, proud of his dad. His world had contracted to a barren half-acre of lonely granite, hemmed in by the restless sea and a high stone wall topped by razor wire.
    "I don't think you really killed that cop," he said.
    The kitchen went quiet. I stared at him.
    "I think you just wounded him," he said. "I'm hoping so, anyway. You know, maybe he's recovering right now. In a hospital somewhere. That's what I'm thinking. You should try to do the same. Think positive. It's better that way. Then you can have the silver lining without the cloud."
    "I don't know," I said.
    "So just pretend," he said. "Use the power of positive thinking. Say to yourself, I did a good thing and there was no downside."
    "Your dad called the local police," I said. "I don't think there was any room for doubt."
    "So just pretend," he said again. "That's what I do. Bad things didn't happen unless you choose to recall them." He had stopped eating and his left hand was up at the left side of his head. He was smiling brightly, but his subconscious was recalling some bad things, right there and then. That was clear. It was recalling them big time.
    "OK," I said. "It was just a flesh wound."
    "In and out," he said. "Clean as a whistle." I said nothing.
    "Missed everything by a fraction," he said. "It was a miracle." I nodded. It would have been some kind of a miracle. That was for damn sure. Shoot somebody in the chest with a soft-nose .44 Magnum and you blow a hole in them the size of Rhode Island. Death is generally instantaneous. The heart stops immediately, mostly because it isn't there anymore. I figured the kid hadn't seen anybody shot before. Then I thought, but maybe he has. And maybe he didn't like it very much.
    "Positive thinking," he said. "That's the key. Just assume he's warm and comfortable somewhere, making a full recovery."
    "What's in the shipment?" I asked.
    "Fakes, probably," he said. "From Pakistan. We get two-hundred-year-old Persians made there. People are such suckers."
    "Are they?" He looked at me and nodded. "They see what they want to see."
    "Do they?"
    "All the time." I looked away. There was no coffee. After a while you realize that caffeine is addictive. I was irritated. And tired.
    "What are you doing today?" he asked me.
    "I don't know," I said.
    "I'm just going to read," he said. "Maybe stroll a little. Walk the shoreline, see what washed up in the