RunnerLarge Print - 2009
After years of a happy, quiet life as the wife of an Amherst, New York, surgeon, former Native American guide Jane Whitefield is drawn back into her dangerous old world when a bomb goes off in the middle of a hospital fundraiser.
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Anybody in the world understood that if you did bad, cruel things to people, then some time the hatred you caused would take a form and come after you. Anybody would know, except her stupid son, Richard, who could feel nothing of the rhythms and balances of the world. Revenge was just a restoration of the natural balance. That was why people called it getting even.
“I guess we’re celebrating a great August day.” “I can support that. But you know, I always feel a little sad when it’s August. It’s sunny and warm and the leaves are all as thick and green as they can get, and everything has grown all summer. It’s so perfect, but that means it’s going to end.”
... she found places to put the pieces of the two weapons—the springs in a trash can, one slide in a storm sewer. The guide rods, slide catches, sears, and triggers went into a row of Dumpsters. She saved the most identifiable parts, the frames and magazines, until they reached the docks, then dropped them in deep water.
Hotels are a nasty place to be if there’s a fire, and no fire department in the world has a ladder that reaches above the fifth floor.
Hawenneyu creates a bright little boy who grows up to be an anesthesiologist, but Hanegoategeh has already given him a blind spot in his peripheral vision so he won’t notice that the dial on the meter is too high and so he’ll kill a patient.
It was built by a guy from the east who wanted to retire from his law firm and have a lot of parties.
He was a tall, handsome, funny young surgeon in a city where such men were as rare as whirling dervishes, so he got no sympathy from Jane Whitefield.
“What do you think is crazier—to see something and admit it, or see it and tell yourself you couldn’t have, so you didn’t?”
If you pay people to be willing to kill, then you’re surrounded by people who are willing to kill for money. You have money. It’s a built-in problem.
Among the old people, a person’s status had never been determined by how much wealth he could accumulate, but how much he brought back to give away.
The job of a bouncer wasn’t to escort the unruly out of the bar and kick the shit out of them. The job was to scare the potentially unruly out of that train of thought by looking big and fierce. An adequate receptionist was at least pretty. The better she looked, the more substantial and respectable she made the company seem, because beauty was a commodity like anything else on the planet. Straight white teeth, delicate features, shining hair, a thin waist cost extra money, just as comfortable, well-designed waiting room furniture cost more than bad furniture.
“I made some phone calls, but they did most of the work— Monica Kaminski, Ann Fuccione, Terri Hauptmann, and Sally Meyer.” “No men?” he said. “A sexist committee?” “We had work to do, so naturally we chose women.”
For every runner there are chasers, ...
“Sometimes playing hide-and-seek isn’t about who is faster, it’s about who makes the fewest mistakes. We’ve got to give them a lot of chances to choose wrong.”
She might not turn out to be a hero or a genius, but she was a good driver. A person who could be trusted to maneuver a metal and glass box containing one’s fragile bones and tender flesh down a highway at a mile a minute was a valuable ally.
... in big cities is a lot of time and work. You have to fight traffic all the way in, then find a room in a place you think might be safe but don’t really know. Even expensive hotels can fool you, because they’re in the center of things, and certain criminals like that.
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