The Coffin Dancer

Jodie pried the front door open. “What if he stabs me or something?”
    “Look at him. He’s almost dead. You could beat the crap out of him with one hand.”
    “Looks like he has AIDS.”
    “Go on.”
    “What if he touches—”
    “Go!”
    Jodie took a deep breath then stepped outside. “Hey, keep it down,” he said to the man. “What the hell you want?”
    Stephen watched the Negro look over Jodie with his crazed eyes. “Word up you selling shit, man. I got money. I got sixty bucks. I need pills. Look, I’m sick.”
    “Whatta you want?”
    “Whatchu got, man?”
    “Reds, bennies, dexies, yellow jackets, demmies.”
    “Yeah, demmies’re good shit, man. I pay you. Fuck. I got money. I’m hurting inside. Got beat up. Where my money?” He slapped his pockets severaltimes before realizing he was clutching the precious twenties in his left hand.
    “But,” Jodie said, “you gotta do something for me first.”
    “Yeah, whatta I gotta do that? You wanna blow job?”
    “No,” Jodie snapped, horrified. “I want you to help me go through some trash.”
    “Why I gotta do that shit?”
    “Picking some cans.”
    “Cans?” the man roared, scratching his nose compulsively. “The fuck you need a nickel for? I just give away a hunnerd cans find out where yo’ ass be. Fuck cans. I pay you money, man.”
    “I give you the demmies for free, only you gotta help me get some bottles.”
    “Free?” The man didn’t seem to understand this. “You mean, free like I don’t gotta pay?”
    “Yeah.”
    The Negro looked around as if he was trying to find somebody to explain this.
    “Wait here,” Jodie said.
    “Where I gotta look for bottles?”
    “Just wait . . . ”
    “Where?” he demanded.
    Jodie stepped back inside. He said to Stephen, “He’s gonna do it.”
    “Good job.” Stephen smiled.
    Jodie grinned back. He started to turn back to the door but Stephen said, “Hey.”
    The little man paused.
    Stephen blurted suddenly, “It’s good I met you.”
    “I’m glad I met you too.” Jodie hesitated for a minute. “Partner.” He stuck his hand out.
    “Partner,” Stephen echoed. He had a fierce urge to take his glove off, so he could feel Jodie’s skin on his. But he didn’t.
    Craftsmanship had to come first.

 . . . Chapter Twenty-four
    Hour 25 of 45
    T he debate was feverish.
    “I think you’re wrong, Lincoln,” Lon Sellitto said. “We gotta move ’em. He’ll hit the safe house again, we leave ’em there.”
    They weren’t the only ones considering the dilemma. Prosecutor Reg Eliopolos hadn’t checked in—not yet—but Thomas Perkins, the FBI special agent in charge of the Manhattan office, was here in person, representing the federal side of the debate. Rhyme wished Dellray were here—and Sachs too, though she was with the joint city/federal tactical force searching abandoned subway locations. So far they hadn’t found any trace of the Dancer or his compatriot.
    “I’m being completely proactive in my take on the situation,” said earnest Perkins. “We have other facilities.”He was appalled that it had taken the Dancer only eight hours to find out where the witnesses were being held and to get within five yards of the disguised fire door of the safe house. “ Better facilities,” he added quickly. “I think we should expedite immediate transferal. I’ve gotten a heads-up from high levels. Washington itself. They want the witnesses immunized.”
    Meaning, Rhyme assumed, move ’em and move ’em now.
    “No,” the criminalist said adamantly. “We have to leave them where they are.”
    “Prioritizing the variables,” Perkins said, “I think the answer’s pretty clear. Move them.”
    But Rhyme said, “He’ll come after them wherever they are, a new safe house or the existing one. We know the turf there, we know something about his approach. We’ve got good ambush coverage.”
    “That’s a good point,” Sellitto conceded.
    “It’ll also throw him off stride.”
    “How so?” Perkins asked.
    “He’s debating right now too, you know.”
    “He is?”
    “Oh, you bet,” Rhyme said. “He’s trying to figure out what we’re going to do. If we decide to keep them where they are, he’ll do one thing. If we move them—which I think is what he’s guessing we’ll do—he’ll try for a transport hit. And however good security is on the road, it’s always worse than fixed premises. No, we have to keep them where they are and be prepared for the