Free White Sister by Stephen J. Cannell Page A

looked outside.
    There was someone stretched out on the lawn chair. It looked like Chooch. He had ignored my instructions and come home. In that instant, I was glad he had. He'd been right, I needed someone to talk this over with.
    "Chooch!" I stepped outside and crossed toward him.
    A man screamed in terror and jumped up, dreads and skinny elbows flying. Then John Bodine stumbled and went down, managing to catch himself with his good wrist, balancing himself precariously. "Like to scare a motherfucker to death," he whined.
    I put my gun away. "What are you doing here?"
    "Got no place else," he said. "And you still got all my what-alls in the car. 'Sides alia that, I got..."
    "I know. Payback coming."
    "Finally got that right, half-stepper."

    Chapter 12.
    I GRABBED HIS skinny arm and pulled him into the house.
    "I ain't no sack a shit you just yank here and about!" Bodine whined.
    Once we were in the entry hall, I turned to him. "I can't deal with you right now. I'm in trouble maybe about to be arrested. I've gotta get movin', so you're outta here." I went into the laundry room to get his stuff. He trailed after me, lost in one of his rants.
    "You about to get arrested, are ya? In Cameroon, during the workers' strike, I got my black ass arrested six times. Got put on trial no legal representation or any such shit. Weren't nobody there for me, but I was on a royal pilgrimage. A prince leading a people's rebellion against tyranny. In his manuscript, Tonio Kroger, Thomas Mann calls a killer one who permanently kills the ills of his people by piercing them with the arrows of the true word. That was me. Prince Samik Mampuna, killer of ills. Know what I'm sayin'?"
    "No." I grabbed his clothes out of the dryer and rolled them u p i n his old coat, which had not yet made its trip to the cleaners. I was definitely through with this joker.
    "I grew up watching hungry folks," he rambled on, trailing after me, blabbering nonsense as I gathered up his things. "Watchin' them grab their swelled-up bellies; so far gone they couldn't even keep nothin' down. My daddy was a king a tribal chief. He said the act of true sacrifice is giving even when you got nothin' left to give. And that be exactly what I'm talking about here."
    "Don't move. I'll be right back." I left him standing on the laundry porch rambling about Africa, and headed to the bedroom to get my extra gun, a small .44 special Bulldog Pug. It's only accurate for a few feet, but it weighed less than two pounds and was an easy carry piece. I wasn't too worried about its accuracy, because I figured if Maluga came for me it would be close combat.
    As I was pulling the piece out of the dresser drawer, something started vibrating in my pocket. I reached in and retrieved Stacy Maluga's pager. I'd completely forgotten about it. The number on the screen read: 310-555-6768.1 jotted it down on a piece of paper and put the pager back in my pocket. As this was happening, I got the germ of an idea on how I might put that stolen gadget to work. I took a stack of cash out of a lockbox under the bed and stuffed it in my pocket. Then I grabbed Alexa's spare office key from the coin dish on our dresser, fitted the Bulldog into a small belt-clip holster and tucked it inside the waistband of my pants at the small of my back. My Beretta was still riding a holster on my hip. I grabbed a box of shells for each gun and left.
    When I returned to the living room, true to his name, John was long gone. I found him in the den near the side window, looking out at the canal.
    "Let's go."
    He jerked up, shrieked in terror, then spun around. He was sure jumpy. It took him a minute to reclaim himself. Then he was back at it. "This ain't right. You run a man down, a prince of all things. Then you just give him a roll-up, and push him out the door with no howdy-do here's some cash."
    I pulled out my wallet, extracted four hundred dollars, and handed it to him.
    "I'll drop you back on the Nickel. How you deal with all