A Time for War by Michael Savage Page B

his leathery face unfolding in a big smile that made him look twenty years younger.
    â€œMy friend,” Johnny said, embracing the much taller man.
    Jack noticed Maggie as she helped an elderly customer get something from a top shelf. When she was finished, the young woman hurried over. She gave Jack a warm, lingering hug as well.
    â€œIt’s so good to see you again,” she said.
    â€œAnd you,” Jack told her. “I hear you got to practice your mantra today: a martial artist must be gentle in life—”
    â€œâ€”and ferocious in combat,” Maggie replied. “You didn’t forget.”
    â€œWhen it comes to mottos and morals, my brain is like Velcro.”
    She broke the embrace and smiled up at him. “I remember when you arranged a studio tour for my college class, you and some of your friends were trading verses from the Bible,” she said. “Do you still do that?”
    â€œAs often as possible,” Jack told her. “Wisdom doesn’t go out of style, even if it’s in increasingly short supply.” He stepped back and looked at her. “So. Are you sure you’re all right?”
    She nodded once. But there was uncertainty in her eyes, in the way she fingered a silver charm bracelet on her left wrist. Her business with the intruder had come to a hard stop. That didn’t mean it was over.
    â€œIs it all right to talk here?” Jack asked.
    â€œYes, yes,” Johnny said. He indicated the customers in the aisles. “We know all of these people.”
    â€œTell me what happened,” Jack said to Maggie.
    Maggie told him. Her voice was calm as she described the man, their exchange, and his flight from the store when he saw Johnny and the mourners. Occasionally she pointed to show him where events had taken place. Johnny put his arm around his daughter as she talked.
    When she finished Jack asked, “Your father said you noticed something unusual?”
    â€œIt was out of character with everything else,” she said. “At first I thought he had come to try and extort money.”
    â€œA protection racket,” Jack said.
    â€œThat’s right. But when I told him I wouldn’t get my father, that all I could do was sell him something—meaning groceries—he smiled. It was not an amused smile but something private, as though he knew something that I did not.”
    Jack considered this. “You’re sure he wasn’t a cop checking to see if you were selling drugs?”
    â€œThe police looked at the surveillance video,” Johnny told him. “They said he wasn’t one of their own.”
    â€œMaybe he was a dealer,” Jack said. “He might’ve wanted you to sell for him.”
    â€œHe looked too wholesome for that kind of trade,” Maggie replied. “He didn’t have the jewelry, he wasn’t looking over his shoulder, he didn’t have that dusty smell of a room with no windows.”
    Maggie was referring to the labs where drugs were sorted, cooked, or packed. Jack knew exactly what she meant. Men and women naked so they couldn’t steal drugs, powder from the talc used to cut cocaine or heroin clinging to their skin, dryness from dehumidifiers that kept moisture out of the packets of blow or smack or pot.
    â€œHe didn’t look like he was from around here and he didn’t sound like it, either,” Maggie said. “His English was very formal and it had no hint of mainland gutturals. This was a schooled, educated man.”
    â€œA spy, recruiting?” Jack suggested. “That’s how they do it. Guys come from the consulate, go out among transplants, look for people loyal to the homeland who might find a couple grand a week helpful. Maybe he hoped you would sell information.”
    â€œHe didn’t try and talk to me, get to know me—”
    â€œIt was your father he wanted,” Jack reminded her. “They don’t go after second