The Coffin Dancer (Lincoln Rhyme 2)

Jodie now asked, "How come you couldn't be in the marines? You never told me."

"Well, it was stupid," Stephen said, then paused and added, "I got into some trouble when I was a kid. D'you ever do that?"

"Get into trouble? Not much. I was scared to. I didn't want to upset my mother, stealing and shit. What'd you do?"

"Something that wasn't real bright. There was this man lived up the road in our town. He was, you know, a bully. I saw him twisting this woman's arm. She was sick, and what was he doing hurting her? So I went up to him and said if he didn't stop I'd kill him."

"You said that?"

"Oh, and another thing my stepfather taught me. You don't threaten. You either kill someone or let them be but you don't threaten. Well, he kept on hassling this woman and I had to teach him a lesson. I started hitting him. It got out of hand. I grabbed a rock and hit him. I wasn't thinking. I did a couple years for manslaughter. I was just a kid. Fifteen. But it was a criminal record. And that was enough to keep me out of the marines."

"I thought I read somewhere that even if you've got a record you can go into the service. If you go to some special boot camp."

"I guess maybe 'cause it was manslaughter."

Jodie's hand pressed Stephen's shoulder. "That's not fair. Not one bit fair."

"I didn't think so."

"I'm real sorry," Jodie said.

Stephen, who never had any trouble looking any man in the eye, glanced at Jodie once then down immediately. And from somewhere, totally weird, this image came to mind. Jodie and Stephen living together in the cabin, going hunting and fishing. Cooking dinner over a campfire.

"What happened to him? Your stepfather?"

"Died in an accident. He was hunting and fell off a cliff."

Jodie said, "Sounds like it was probably the way he'd've wanted to go."

After a moment Stephen said, "Maybe it was."

He felt Jodie's leg brush his. Another electric jolt. Stephen stood quickly and looked out the window again. A police car cruised past but the cops inside were drinking soda and talking.

The street was deserted except for a clutch of homeless men, four or five whites and one Negro.

Stephen squinted. The Negro, lugging a big garbage bag full of soda and beer cans, was arguing, looking around, gesturing, offering the bag to one of the white guys, who kept shaking his head. He had a crazy look in his eyes and the whites were scared. Stephen watched them argue for a few minutes, then he returned to the mattress, sat down next to Jodie.

Stephen put his hand on Jodie's shoulder.

"I want to talk to you about what we're going to do."

"Okay, all right. I'm listening, partner."

"There's somebody out there looking for me."

Jodie laughed. He said, "Seems to me after what happened back at that building there's a buncha people looking for you."

Stephen didn't smile. "But there's one person in particular. His name's Lincoln."

Jodie nodded. "That's his first name?"

Stephen shrugged. "I don't know . . . I've never met anyone like him."

"Who is he?"

A worm . . .

"Maybe a cop. FBI. A consultant or something. I don't know exactly." Stephen remembered the Wife describing him to Ron--the way somebody'd talk about a guru, or a ghost. He felt cringey again. He slid his hand down Jodie's back. It rested at the base of his spine. The bad feeling went away.