The Racketeer Page 0,79

at first.

But there were a couple of sticking points. First, my incarceration and, second, her marriage, which, as it turned out, was a mess. I leaned on her brother for information, but he wanted to stay out of it. We swapped a few letters, but she was afraid of getting caught by her husband. She tried to visit more often, to see both her brother and me, but she had two teenagers who were complicating her life. After her divorce was final, she dated other men, but nothing worked. I begged Vanessa to wait for me, but seven years is a long time when you're forty-one. When her kids left home, she moved to Richmond, Virginia, and our long-distance romance cooled off. Vanessa's background is such that she is extremely cautious and keeps one eye on the rearview mirror. I guess we have that much in common. Using encrypted e-mails, we manage to arrange a time and place. I warn her that I look nothing like the Malcolm Bannister she met in prison. She says she'll take that chance. She can't wait to see the new-and-improved version.

As I park outside the restaurant, in a suburb of Richmond, I have a bad case of the butterflies. I'm a wreck because I am about to finally touch the woman I have dreamed about for almost three years. I know she wants to touch me too, but the guy she was so physically attracted to back then looks entirely different now. What if she doesn't approve? What if she prefers Malcolm to Max? It's also unnerving to realize I'm about to spend time with the only person, outside the Feds, who knows both men.

I wipe perspiration from my forehead and consider leaving. Then I get out and slam the door.

She's at the table, and as I almost stutter-step over, she smiles. She approves. I kiss her gently on the cheek and sit down, and for a long time we just look at each other. Finally, I say, "Well, what do you think?"

Vanessa shakes her head and says, "Pretty astonishing. I would have never known. Got any ID?" We both laugh and I say, "Sure, but it's all bogus. It says I'm Max now, not Malcolm."

"You look thin, Max."

"Thanks, and you too." I caught a glimpse of her legs under the table. Short skirt. Funky high heels. She's dressed for action.

"Which do you prefer?" I ask.

"Well, I suppose I don't have a choice now, do I? I think you're cute, Max. I like the new you, the whole ensemble. Whose idea was the designer eyeglasses?"

"My consultant, same guy who suggested the slick head and four days of stubble."

"The more I see, the more I like."

"Thank God. I'm a nervous wreck."

"Relax, baby. We're in for a long night."

The waiter takes our drink orders - a martini for me, diet soda for her. There are a lot of things I don't want to discuss, namely my sudden exit from prison and witness protection. The brother she visited in prison got out but is already back behind bars, so we leave him out of the conversation. I ask about her kids, a daughter who's twenty and in college and a son who's eighteen and drifting.

At one point, as I'm talking, she stops me and says, "You even sound different."

"Good. It's a new speech pattern I've been practicing for months now. A much slower delivery and a deeper voice. Does it seem genuine?"

"I think so. Yes, it's working."

She asks where I'm living, and I explain I've yet to find a home. I'm moving around, trying to avoid getting trailed by the FBI and others, lots of cheap motels. I'm not a fugitive, but I'm not exactly in the clear. Our dinner arrives, but we hardly notice.

She says, "You look a lot younger. Maybe I should see your plastic surgeon."

"Please, don't change a thing." I talk about the changes - primarily the eyes, nose, and chin. I amuse her by describing the meetings with my surgical team and our efforts to design a new face. I'm also twenty pounds lighter and she thinks I need to put on a few pounds. As our nerves settle we relax and talk like a couple of old friends. The waiter asks if our food is okay, since we've hardly touched it. We hit a number of topics, but in the back of our minds we're both thinking the same thing. I finally say, "Let's get outta here."

The words are barely spoken and