Part 2 (1/2)

”Hold it, Ramirez,” he said quietly. ”Stop right there. One more step and you're a dead man.”

Manny Ramirez paused, frowning. His eyes flicked up again at the trees behind Valenti, combing the slope for some kind of sign. He saw nothing.

A moment pa.s.sed.

Then something changed, ever so slowly, in Ramirez' face. The doubt seeped away, and was replaced by a leering, confident smile. The vein still pulsed steadily in his forehead.

”A bad mistake, Valenti,” he said softly. ”You held up your hand just now, remember? You held up your hand like you were stopping traffic, with all five fingers extended -- the signal for Shorty to kill me, I believe you said. Isn't that right?” His smile widened into a fierce, murderous grin. ”And nothing happened, did it, Valenti? Nothing happened because n.o.body's up there.” He paused once more, and the smile fell away. His eyes blazed like those of a starving tiger.

Slowly Ramirez took his hand from his pocket. The folded switchblade opened with a snap; the thin blade flashed silver in the sun.

”You made a mistake,” he repeated, ”and now you're going to die.”

He stepped forward.

Mike Valenti said nothing; he just dropped the phone to the ground and raised his fist toward the sky. Only his forefinger was extended, as if showing this misguided drug-pus.h.i.+ng child of G.o.d the direction to Salvation.

At that instant, so sudden it seemed magical, Ramirez' right kneecap exploded. A split-second later they heard the sound of the gunshot; it came from somewhere in the thick woods above and behind Valenti.

Manny Ramirez fell like a tree, both hands clasped around his ruined knee. Blood was everywhere. He rolled back and forth, moaning and cursing with every breath.

Slowly the tall man walked over and stood beside him. As an afterthought he picked the switchblade up off the ground and tossed it over the railing. Then he squatted comfortably three feet away and watched with calm interest as Ramirez writhed like a snake in the dirt.

Finally Ramirez quieted down a bit, and lay with his eyes closed and his breath whistling through his clenched teeth. Both hands were still gripping his b.l.o.o.d.y kneecap.

”Look at me, Manny,” Valenti said quietly.

Slowly Ramirez opened one eye and stared at him. It was wild with pain and hate.

”You made a mistake too,” Valenti said. He held out his arm and flexed his fingers so Ramirez could see them. ”I'm left- handed.”

They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment, then the older man rose and stared down at the Mexican. ”I'll call some of your goons and tell 'em where to find you,” Valenti said. ”It's anybody's guess whether they'll actually want to come or not.”

Ramirez swallowed hard, his face drawn tight with pain.