The Racketeer

yours.” One of the unnamed agents unlocks the door and hands me the key. Inside, there are two queen-sized beds, and on one there is a selection of clothes. Hanski and Surhoff close the door behind us.
    “I got your sizes from the prison,” Hanski says, waving an arm at my new wardrobe. “If you don’t like it, fine. We can go shopping.”
    There are two white shirts and one of blue plaid, all with button-down collars; two pairs of khakis and one pair of pre-washed and faded jeans; a brown leather belt; a stack of boxers, neatly folded; two white T-shirts; several pairs of socks still in the wrappers; a pair of brown moccasins that look presentable; and the ugliest pair of black loafers I’ve ever seen. Overall, not a bad start. “Thanks,” I say.
    Hanski continues, “Toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving stuff, all in the bathroom. There’s a small gym bag over there. Anything else you need, we’ll run to the store. You want some lunch?”
    “Not now. I just want to be alone.”
    “No problem, Mal.”
    “It’s now Max, if you don’t mind.”
    “Max Baldwin,” Surhoff added.
    “That was quick.”
    They leave and I lock the door. I slowly strip out of the prison garb—olive shirt and pants, white socks, black thick-soled, lace-up shoes, and boxer shorts that are frayed and worn thin. I put on a pair of the new boxers and a T-shirt, then crawl under the covers and stare at the ceiling.

    For lunch, we walk next door to a low-budget seafood joint with a drive-through and all the crab legs one can eat for $7.99. It’s just Hanski, Surhoff, and I, and we enjoy a long meal of mediocre seafood that is, nonetheless, delicious. With the pressure off, they actually crack jokes and comment on my wardrobe. I return the insults by reminding them that I’m not a white frat boy like them and from now on I’ll buy my own clothes.
    As the afternoon moves along, they let me know that we have work to do. A lot of decisions must be made. We return to the motel, to the room next to mine, where one of the two beds is covered with files and papers. Hitchcock joins us, so there are four in the room, all supposedly working together, though I’m skeptical. I tell myself over and over that these guys are now on my side, that the government is my protector and friend, but I cannot fully accept this. Perhaps over time they can gain my trust, but I doubt it. The last time I spent hours with government agents I was promised I would not be prosecuted.
    By now, the new name has stuck and that decision is final. Hanski says, “Max, we’re leaving here in the morning, and we need to decide where we’re going. That will be determined by what changes in appearance you have in mind. You’ve made it clear that you want your face altered, which presents a challenge.”
    “You mean with my testimony?” I ask.
    “Yes. Rucker’s trial could be six months from now, or a year.”
    “Or he may plead guilty and not go to trial,” I say.
    “Sure. But let’s assume he doesn’t do that. Let’s assume he goes to trial. If you have the surgery now, your new face will be on display when you testify. If you wait until after the trial, you’ll be much safer.”
    “Safer then, but what about now?” I ask. “What about the next six months? The Rucker gang will come after me, we know that. They’re already thinking of ways, and the sooner the better for them. If they can get me before the trial, then they rub out a valuable witness. The next six months are the most dangerous, so I want the surgery now. Immediately.”
    “Okay. What about the trial?”
    “Come on, Chris. There are ways to hide me, you know that. I can testify behind a screen or a veil. It’s been done. Don’t you watch television or movies?”
    This gets a chuckle here and there, but the mood is pretty serious. The thought of testifying against Quinn Rucker is terrifying, but there are ways to protect me.
    “We did one last year,” Hitchcock says. “A big drug trial in New Jersey. The informant looked nothing like his old self, and we put a panel in front of the witness stand so only the judge and jury could see him. We used a voice-altering device, and the defendants had no idea who he was or what he looked like.”
    “They’ll certainly know who I am,” I say. “I just don’t want them to see me.”
    “All right,” Hanski says. “It’s your decision.”
    “Then consider it final,” I say.
    Hanski pulls out his cell phone and heads for the door. “Let