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Scott Duncan sat across from the killer

The less rooray ard and still, stuck in that lull when the in the dance Scott tried a noncoe, simply stared Scott folded his hands and put them on the metal table The killer—his file said he was Monte Scanlon, but there was no way that was his real naht have done likewise had his hands not been cuffed

Why, Scott wondered yet again, am I here?

His specialty was prosecuting corrupt politicians—soe industry in his hoo, Monte Scanlon, a mass executioner by any standards, had finally broken his silence to make a demand

That demand?

A privatewith Assistant US Attorney Scott Duncan

This was strange for a large variety of reasons, but here were two: one, a killer should not be in a position to make demands; two, Scott had never met or even heard of Monte Scanlon

Scott broke the silence “You asked to see me?”

“Yes”

Scott nodded, waited for him to say more He didn’t “So what can I do for you?”

Monte Scanlon maintained the stare “Do you knohy I’m here?”

Scott glanced around the room Besides Scanlon and hian, the United States attorney, leaned against the back wall trying to give off the ease of Sinatra against a la behind the prisoner were two beefy, nearly identical prison guards with tree-stump arms and chests like antique arents before, had seen thea instructors But today, with this well-shackled prisoner, even these guys were on edge Scanlon’s lawyer, a ferret reeking of checkout-counter cologne, rounded out the group All eyes were on Scott

“You killed people,” Scott answered “Lots of them”

“I hat is commonly called a hit man I was”—Scanlon paused—“an assassin for hire”

“On cases that don’t involve me”

“True”

Scott’sa subpoena on a waste-disposal executive as paying off a sraft in the Garden State of New Jersey That had been, what, an hour, an hour and a half ago? Now he sat across the bolted-down table froh estimate—one hundred people

“So why did you ask for me?”

Scanlon looked like an aging playboy who ht have squired a Gabor sister in the fifties He was s hair was slicked back, his teeth cigarette-yellow, his skin leathery frohts in too many dark clubs No one in the room knew his real naentinean national, age fifty-one The age seeerprints had not popped up in the NCIC conition software had co

“We need to speak alone”

“This is not ned to you”

“This has nothing to do with her”

“And it does with me?”

Scanlon leaned forward “What I’e your entire life”