The Devil in Silver

Pepper weighed the book in his open hand. The cover showed a painting of the artist’s face; at least this was in color. The man looked both dour and vibrant, somehow. Pepper thought, strangely, that he recognized the expression on the guy’s grill. “I want this one,” he said.

Josephine felt more gratified than she could say when Pepper tucked the book under his arm. It seemed to erase Dorry’s dismissal from the week before, and the frustrations of the computer program and the always-curt Miss Chris. Josephine took this job because she needed the paycheck, but she chose this line of work—nursing—because she thought she was good at helping others. She’d had very little chance to prove it since she’d started at New Hyde. The job often felt like triage, not care. Under such circumstances, lending Pepper this paperback seemed like a small victory. Take them wherever you can, Josephine.

She opened her spiral notebook to the first page and wrote out the title in full: The Letters of Vincent Van Gogh to his Brother and Others (1872–1890).

“Just put your initials here next to the title,” she said.

Pepper looked at the pen in her hand, the page of the spiral notebook, but hesitated.

“It’s a library, right? You don’t keep the books. You borrow them.”

She didn’t say this with an attitude. More like this was another part of the fun, the game. So Pepper wrote his real initials—“P.R.”—and Josephine watched him do this with a grin.

“You can keep it as long as you like.” She snapped her notebook shut. “No late fees!”

He appreciated Josephine’s enthusiasm. She saw this book as a loan, but Pepper knew it was more of a parting gift. He’d be taking it with him tonight and he wouldn’t be back to return it.

“Thanks,” he said. “And good-bye.”

She pushed the Bookmobile back toward Northwest 1. “I’ll see you again on Monday,” she said. “Don’t be such a drama queen.” She laughed.

Pepper nodded slightly and squeezed the book with two hands.

“Sure,” he said. “What could happen between now and then?”

19

FIRST THING THAT happened after he said good-bye to Josephine was that Pepper ran into Mr. Mack and Frank Waverly. He was returning to his room, library book under his arm. The old men were out for their midmorning constitutional. As Pepper passed the pair, Mr. Mack pinched the sleeve of Pepper’s shirt and tugged at it. Pulled his coat, as old heads used to say.

Pepper turned back and Mr. Mack spoke as if they’d already been conversing for a while. “Now the way I see it,” Mr. Mack began. “And I do see it. The big problem you face is how to stay hid once you make it out the front door.”

Pepper pulled his sleeve away, took two extra steps, before he realized what Mr. Mack had just said. The larger, watchful Frank Waverly remained silent.

Mr. Mack grinned and nodded at Pepper.

“You escape out of here and they just go into your file and find out where you live, where you worked, who your people are. You told them all that at the intake meeting, am I right? That’s enough information for triangulation. They’ll snatch you back up before the sun rises.”

Pepper looked past these two men. He saw Josephine at the nurses’ station. And at the far end of Northwest 1, Miss Chris, opening the front door, walking out and shutting it again. Neither one had heard Mr. Mack broadcasting Pepper’s escape plan.

Mr. Mack slipped his hands into the pockets of his sport coat, which gave him a professorial air. “Now you could go on the run, leave the city or even the state. But here’s something they don’t tell you about being a fugitive. That mess is expensive. And you don’t look independently wealthy to me. No offense.” Then Mr. Mack snickered to show he certainly did mean to offend.

Pepper hardly registered the slight. Who blabbed? That’s what he wanted to know. Not that Mr. Mack would’ve told him.

“The trick, for you, big boy, is going to be getting your records. That’s where they’ll have all the facts you related on your first night. You go to another hospital and the record here will eventually make its way there. I’ve had it happen to me. So the trick, before you run, is to leave no records behind. No file, and you could settle right down the block. They would never realize you were you. I promise you that.”

Mr. Mack squared up close to Pepper’s chest, like the two men were boxers meeting in the middle of a ring.

“But whatever you do, you need to remember you’re taking the coward’s way out, big boy. Sound harsh? It is harsh. But I’m trying to get through to you. There’s only one thing that needs to be done with the motherfucker in that room. It won’t stop until somebody stops it.”

“Why don’t you do it, then?” Pepper asked.

“I’m an idea man,” Mr. Mack said. He poked Pepper’s beefy arm. “And my idea is that you’ve got the strength. But not the resolve.”

With that, Mr. Mack and Frank Waverly walked off.