A String of Beads (Jane Whitefield, #8)(28)

“What kind of guide?”

“People came to me who had pretty much used up their lives. They had good reason to believe that they were going to be murdered, and had no way out. I took them to other places where nobody knew them, made them into new people, and taught them how to be those new people.”

He stared at her in shock for a few seconds. Finally he said, “How did you get involved in that?”

“I didn’t exactly get involved. When somebody is in danger and you know how to help him, you do, that’s all. When I was in college I spent three summers working for a skip tracer, so I learned how to find people. Then one night I was at a party and learned a friend of mine was in trouble. When I thought about it, I realized that I didn’t just know how to find people. I knew how to lose people too. So I helped him disappear that night. But a number of our friends were at the party too, and knew what I’d done. A year later, one of them knew somebody else who needed that kind of help, and brought her to me. Then there were others, and the ones I helped told others. Pretty soon it was strangers. Over the next fifteen years I invented a lot of people.”

“You were in jail. So I guess you got caught.”

She shook her head. “No. Not for that reason, and not under my name. I just got myself sent to jail a couple of times because there were women in there that I had to get to.”

“How did you learn to fight like that?”

“It’s not about fighting. It’s about running. If I’m cornered I fight dirty. Strike first without warning, use any weapon I have, hurt them as badly as I can, and then run.”

“There’s more to it than that. You have some kind of training.”

“Years ago, there was a man I had to keep hidden for a very long time—more than eight months. Every day I taught him and tested him, making him learn to be a new person and forget the old person’s tastes, habits, and attitudes. You can only do that for seven or eight hours a day. In return, he spent another seven or eight hours a day teaching me what he knew—aikido. Over the years, I learned more, and I practice. And I stay in the best physical condition I can: I do tai chi to maintain my flexibility, balance, and tone, and I run every day.” She paused, and thought about the long months of recovery after she was captured. “Unless I’m really sick, and can’t get out of bed.”

Jimmy said, “The clan mothers knew about all this?”

“I have no idea how they found out—who would have told them, or how long ago it was. They knew about me in the way they know other secrets. They keep things to themselves until they decide it’s time not to.”

Jimmy was silent, looking down at the white pavement in front of the steps.

Jane said, “What I’ve told you would get some very nice people, including me, into terrible trouble—jail for a few of them, death for nearly all of the others—if the wrong person found out and made the right connections. These are people who had someone really scary after them at the beginning. They’re okay now, but that kind of trouble doesn’t ever really go away. It just waits. I’m trusting you with our secret because your knowing will make it easier for me to help you.”

“I’ll never tell anybody,” he said. “I promise.”

“Then you can be one of my runners.”

“Runners?”

“My clients. What I do is help people stay alive. I don’t help them get revenge, or bring them justice, or something. I teach them to run and hide. Are you interested in that?”

“I’ve tried fighting, and that hasn’t worked out too well.”

“Then we’d better get started.”





8



Jane bought a Cleveland Plain Dealer at a vending machine and then walked with Jimmy to a coffee shop a couple of blocks up from the lake. She scanned a page of ads. “Here,” she said. “Here’s the kind of thing we want. ‘Suites by the day, week, or month. One or two bedroom, kitchen-slash-sitting room.’” She circled the ad with her pencil, then three others. “Any of these in this column would work. Apartments can require a background investigation, deposits, and sometimes references. Hotels only require a credit card that isn’t rejected when they test run it for a hundred bucks to be sure it’s valid. And once you’re there, everybody’s a stranger.” She turned a page, then another.

“That’s not enough?”

“We’ll also need a car.” She started circling ads again. “It has to be used, for sale by owner. A person sells his car because he wants to get more than he can get on a trade-in. He knows he might get a bad check, so what he really wants is cash, and that’s good for us.” She crossed off a few ads. “No antiques, no convertibles, no conversation pieces. When you’re doing this, look for low-end models from good manufacturers. You want the car that nobody remembers, the kind you’d find easy to lose in a parking lot. You’re not going to try to drive it for a hundred thousand miles. It just has to run okay, and have some working life left.”

“What about leasing a car, or renting one?”

“Neither option is good for you right now. Rentals are fine if you have a credit card in another name, need a car for a day or two, and can return it to the same place—or get someone else to. It’s expensive after a few days, and the company can locate the car if they feel the need. A lease is a bank loan, and it triggers a credit check.”