That’s How I Roll

didn’t spend any of the new money when it started coming in. Not at first. What I did, I invested it. First thing was to build myself a machine shop. We had to make the house easier for me to get into, and easier to move around in, too. For that, we needed all kinds of power tools to cut wood and metal.

But that wasn’t complicated work. Once I showed Tory-boy how, he could handle any of the tools. If I showed him a pattern, Tory-boy could cut it perfect.

My lab was another story entirely. I had some tools in there, too. Not for heavy work; just the opposite, in fact. The kind of work I couldn’t teach Tory-boy.

Even with the switch that would turn our satellite dish into a signal-sender for the string of blasting caps buried just under the surface out in the yard—buried so shallow you could see them sitting inside the clear Lexan box I built to house them—there was still the chance that enemies could get at us. That’s why the metal gates were wired. That’s why we had the dogs. That’s why …

I never underestimate people. What one man can build, another man can bypass. I didn’t need to stop enemies, I just needed to slow them down. They might get past everything I’d put in their way, but they couldn’t do that quickly enough to ever separate me and Tory-boy, or to stop us from getting down to our mine.

verybody around here knows something about mining. It’s part of our life, in our heritage forever, even though the only nearby mine had dried up years ago.

So when I told Tory-boy we were going to have our own mine—our secret mine—he got all excited and real quiet at the same time.

If I say it myself, I’ve got a microsurgeon’s hands. And my eyesight is so fine it’d put 20/20 to shame—I’d never needed glasses, even when I built some of my most tiny little devices.

I’d disliked working while lying out on the floor—I don’t feel completely safe unless I’m in my chair, I guess—but this time it was something that just had to be done.

And I had Tory-boy to protect me while I was doing it.

I’d have him lift me out of the chair and put me on the floor, facedown. Then I’d pull myself over to wherever I needed, so I could do the close-up work on the wood floor of our house.

You’ll find some kind of carpet or rugs in just about any house around here, but not in ours. We’d had Mr. Shane come over and lay in genuine wide pine flooring. He’s an old man now, retired on that little government check, but his hands still know what to do, and he was as glad for the cash as I expected he would be.

Or maybe what made him glad was me telling him he was the only one I’d even consider for the work I needed done. If he couldn’t oblige me, I’d understand, but it would be a deep disappointment, I didn’t mind saying.

I knew he’d tell people about the work he’d done on our house, but that didn’t matter. After all, I was a cripple, wasn’t I? Imprisoned in that wheelchair for life. It only made sense that I wouldn’t want to be sliding a wheelchair over rugs all the time.

My work was to undo some of Mr. Shane’s work. I was very slow and very careful about it. When I finally finished, you couldn’t see where three of the boards had been removed and then put back unless you got down there with a magnifying glass.

Tory-boy loved helping me with my work. And, this time, I wasn’t making up a task just to build up his confidence. I could never have moved those heavy boards myself without scratching them up bad, so I truly needed him.

But where I needed him most was when we dug our own mine. It was slow work. We couldn’t take out more than a few dozen bucketfuls a night. I made sure Tory-boy knew to scatter that dirt around different trees. The next rain would mix it up perfect, and rain’s one of those things you can count on coming, sooner or later.

It took almost two years, working like that, but we built our own little mine.

If I were ever to roll my chair over a certain spot, the boards would come loose, and I could pry them the rest of the way up with the hook at the end of my stick.

A side-railed ramp would take me down to the bottom. Then all I’d have to do is pull the boards back into place with the loops we have fastened underneath. To look at it, you’d never know anyone was under that floor.

Down below, there was room enough for me and Tory-boy. And enough bricks of plastique to excavate a mine shaft.

That was the final exit for us both. If things ever got so bad outside that I couldn’t fix it, our private mine is where we’d go.

We’d wait until the house was full of the people who’d be hunting us—we’d be able to hear them right above—and then Tory-boy and me, we’d leave this dirty world behind us.

We’d leave together, but we wouldn’t go out alone.

I promised Tory-boy I’d never let anyone hurt him. And I’d keep that promise, no matter what it cost anyone else. A debt is a debt, and an honorable man settles his debts. But my promise to Tory-boy is beyond any debt—it’s a sacred duty.

There’s no way I can ever get to our mine now. But I can still honor my promises and pay my debts.

And keep my Tory-boy safe. Once he pushed that button, nobody could ever torment him again.

Our mine would be used only if everything else failed. I didn’t expect that, but I had to have everything in place so my mind could be at ease.

either Judakowski nor Lansdale cared how any problem in their territories got solved. When they wanted a problem out of the way, they didn’t care if it left in a limousine or a pine box. I didn’t have any special taste for killing, so I always tried the softer way.

Tried it first, I mean. When I took a job to move someone, they got moved. My word was a contract, and I never failed to live up to my end, even when that required the end of someone else.

Sometimes, you can get the exact effect you’re after without any bloodshed at all. What I learned was that achieving such an effect depended on a lot of different things. Not just how smart the target was, but how much he had already invested, be it in his racket or his image.

Lansdale or Judakowski would give me the name of a man who was causing a problem. Rarely would anyone be causing them both a problem, but even that happened every so often.

Besides the name, I’d also need the right place to have a package delivered—the target’s home was always best—and a copy of a return address he’d trust on sight. I can print up an exact duplicate of any label you show me, right down to the bar codes. The next step is for the man to open that package. Then a big puff! of talcum powder would float out in a gentle cloud. The only thing inside the box would be a piece of paper, with a typed-out message: