Midnight Sun (93 page)

With
a
curious
look
,
he
asked
,
"What
happened
to
you?"

"Cut
myself
shaving."

"Your
van,
”
Kreshnik
said
in
heavily
accented
English
.
“
I
t
cracked."

“
Cracked?
No,
I
think
you
mean
crashed
.
”
Kharzai
waved
off
their
curiosity
and
changed
the
subject.
“
What
’s
the
name
of
that
gang
idiot
from
the
train
depot?"

"Snake,"
Leka
replied
.

"More
like
worm,
”
Kharzai
said,
curling
his
lip
in
disgust
at
the
sound
of
the
name.
“
He
is
a
pathetic
excuse
for
a
human
being."

"Why
do
you
say
that?"

"Because
he
let
his
dick
jeopardize
the
mission,
that's
why."

"Who
Dick?"
Kreshnik
asked
.

"Not
who,
what,"
Kharzai
corrected
.
He
grabbed
his
crotch
and
said,
"This
is
a
dick."

"Oh,"
Kreshnik
replied
.
“
I
thought
that
balls
.
”

"It's
a
combination
package
.
"
Kharzai
wav
ed
his
finger
in
a
circular
motion
around
his
groin.
"But
now
is
not
the
time
for
an
anatomy
lesson.
Call
Snake
and
his
second
—what’s
his
name?"

“
Blue,
”
Leka
said
.

“
Blue?
”
Kharzai
scrunched
his
eyebrows
in
disbelief,
“
What
kind
of
a
name
is
that?
Who
names
their
child
after
a
color?
”

Leka
shrugged
.
“
Gang
names
don
’
t
need
to
make
sense
. J
ust
sound
cool.
”

“
Whatever
.
”
Kharzai
started
up
the
stairs
to
his
room.
“
T
ell
them
I
want
to
see
them
both
here
within
the
hour.
”

“
What
do
I
say
is
reason?
”

“
Do
I
need
a
reason
to
see
them?
”

“
It
helps
them
hurry
,
perhaps.
”

“
I
am
going
to
pay
them
in
advance
to
ensure
their
loyalty.
”

Kharzai
took
a
hot
,
steamy
shower,
washing
away
the
residues
of
murder.
He
changed
his
clothes
and
stuffed
the
bloody
shirt
into
a
paper
bag
,
which
he
would
take
out
and
toss
into
a
public
D
umpster
somewhere.
As
he
turned
,
he
caught
a
glimpse
of
himself
in
the
mirror
above
the
chest
of
drawers
in
the
room.
He
stopped
and
stared
at
the
specter
of a man that reflected back
.
He
was
only
thirty
-
eight,
but
he
felt
as
ancient
as
the
mountains
that
surrounded
the
city
of
Anchorage.

To
the
casual
observer
,
he
might actually pass for someone much younger
.
The
thick
ball
of
hair
that
exploded
from
his
scalp
was
still
black
as
night.
The
springy
curls
bounced
and
quivered
with
every
movement
of
his
head.
His
olive
-
tan
skin,
what
could
be
seen
between
the
black
forest
of
his
beard
and
hair,
was
still
surprisingly
smooth
and wrinkle free
,
especially considering
of
bad
weather
and
abuse
he
had
endured
in more than a decade and a half of
shadowy
service
.
His
body
was
strong,
his
joints
limber,
and
his
reaction
time
still
almost
superhuman.
People
always
found
it
difficult
to
guess
his
age
based
on
his
physical
appearance
or demeanor
,
most
assuming
he
was
in
his
early
twenties
rather
than
nearly
forty.