You needed a gun, no doubt about that. Nothin’ gets cooperation like the muzzle of a sawed-off resting between the eyes. But guns was only for last resorts, or people who couldn’t do no better.

And he could do better.

The suitcase was full of them—knives for gutting, filleting, or butterflying. Cleavers for chopping off heads and tails, picks for piercing tough skin. And the portable hacksaws for the bigger bones.

A part of the old man that would be with him for life.

Best thing was, he knew how to use them, where to stick them to do the most damage with the least amount of blood.

The trick—whether it was a shank or an ice pick—was to keep ’em sharp. The sharper the blade, the cleaner the cut, the less blood.

And he’d packed his best stones.

None of that mass-manufactured sharpeners for him. Just good old-fashioned stones.

Had to have them—all of them. But shit, did they make the suitcase one heavy load.

He picked up a pencil and wrote on a piece of scrap paper:

Rule number one: Keep your hands cleen.

Rule number two: Find the rite dumshit to do the dirty work.

Excepchon to rule number two: First you gotta do the dirty work once to show the dumshit how to do it. Then you let the dumshit do the rest of the dirty work.

Rule number three:

Rule number three:

Rule number three:

He tapped the pencil against the paper, but couldn’t think of anything else to write.

He threw the paper and the pencil in his suitcase, then rummaged through his other papers until he found the right one.

He consulted his hit list.

Three names held the number-one spot, each one just as dopey and stupid as the next.

Any one of the three would do.

Tomorrow morning he’d hang out, see which one came up first.

Then, like Marvin K., he’d be on his way.

6

Somehow Rina caught Frieda Levine before she hit the ground. Just as Peter predicted, she’d looked, she’d seen, she’d gone out cold. Through all the noise and confusion, Rina’s first thought was: Get the woman alone for Peter’s sake, for everyone’s sake, before she blurted out something she’d regret.

She tried to shout over her mother-in-law’s shrieking. She wanted Eema Sora out of the room and Mrs. Levine alone with her and Peter, but it was too late. A dozen adults swarmed around Frieda.

“Give her some air, for goodness’ sake,” Rina yelled.