“But did he pay? Really pay? He’s pain free and your sister’s still hurting. Think about that.”

Sal did just that, or appeared to, sitting behind his desk staring at the empty sockets of a plastic pen set. Eventually…

“I take it we’re talkin’ about something worse than death here, right?”

“Right.”

Sal frowned. “Which means, I take it, we’re back to you tellin’ me you don’t kill for money.”

“In a way.”

“You know, I got to thinkin’ about that last week. ‘I don’t kill for money.’ Real funny way of putting it.”

“Think so?” Jack wasn’t too comfortable with where this seemed to be going.

Sal stared at him a moment, then shrugged. “So whatta you got in mind? Some of the old meat-hook-and-cattle-prod thing?”

“Not exactly. I was—”

“A little amputation action, then. Wham! Both legs off at the knees. That’ll cut him down to size—in more ways than one.” He grinned. “Yeah. Everywhere he goes he’s eyeballin’ other guys’ crotches.”

Jeez, Jack thought.

“No, I was thinking about a different approach, maybe coming at him through what’s important to him. Dragovic seems to like the limelight, to be seen with the glitterati, to get his picture in the paper with celebrities and—”

Sal slapped one hand on the desktop and pointed a rust-stained finger at Jack with the other. “Acid in the face! He’ll be blind and ugly as shit! That’s it! That’s it! Oh, I like the way you think!”

Jack bit the insides of his cheeks. Maybe this wasn’t going to work.

“Acid in the face is always an option,” he said, “but it’s sort of crude, don’t you think? I’m looking for a move with just a tad more style. You mentioned a party this weekend. Where?”

“Out at his new place in the Hamptons. Not one party—two.”

“That might be a place to start. Got the address?”

Sal reached for the phone. “No, but my caterer friend will know it. Thinking of torching his place during one of the parties?” Sal said as he punched in the numbers. “Maybe his face’ll catch fire and melt. I could go for that.”

“Arson is always an option,” Jack said, keeping his voice steady.

Sal Vituolo was a shoo-in for Bloodthirstiest Customer of the Year. How was Jack going to come up with something short of death, dismemberment, or disfigurement that would satisfy him?

Maybe a look at Dragovic’s new place would inspire him. But if he wanted to avoid the holiday weekend traffic, he’d have to go today.

9

“I call it Loki,” Dr. Monnet said.

Nadia stood at his side as he sat at the console and manipulated the hologram of the molecule that floated before them. She’d wondered, feared that being alone with him, being this close, might trigger that old sexual excitement. Thank God, no. She was still in awe of him as a scientist, but that one afternoon seemed to have permanently purged the lust she’d felt.

She concentrated, squinting at the image, not because it was too small or out of focus but because she had never seen anything like it.