Barbara Spiegel was enjoying a rare day off, reading a novel, sprawled along the livingroom couch, but the tappity-tap coming from Spike's room brought her to her feet at once. Dammit, someone's throwing pebbles at his window. It must be a new friend who didn't know he was at the port on Saturdays. Making a mental note to have Spike tell this particular friend not to get his attention in this stupid way, she went into the back bedroom and opened the window. She didn't stick her head out until she'd taken a glance downward, which showed her it really was just a kid there, alone. Old habits of caution ever really died.

This kid was older than Spike's usual friends, or taller, anyway, skinny, with very fair hair, wearing the ubiquitous neighborhood uniform of crumpled jeans, tee shirt, zip jacket, and billed cap. She called down that Spike was at the spaceport, letting her irritation show in her voice; that alone usually stopped this sort of behavior. The boy glanced up at her, frowning. He was a good-looking kid, in an aquiline sort of way. "Ma'am? I have something for him I promised to bring yesterday, but I forgot. Can I just bring it up and leave it with you?" He held up a stack of comic books as evidence.

She sighed. Despite Spike's disenchantment with school, he was a bright kid who read anything she put in front of him. Unfortunately, he also read things like comics. "OK, bring them up," she said, resigned. He'd be furious if he was expecting them and she didn't take delivery.

She picked up her Glock and tucked it into her belt, under her loose shirt, not from any sense of menace, but simply, again, the habit of caution. The kid would have had to be younger than six before she'd meet him, a stranger, without being armed. She heard his light footsteps running up the stairs, and they sounded peculiarly like Spike's. Smiling, she opened the door as he reached the landing.

He'd taken off the cap, letting his hair spill onto his shoulders, and as soon as she saw him, she knew. She didn't need the fact that he'd ditched the comics somewhere and was empty-handed. She saw that hair, his eyes, his expression, and she knew exactly who he was and that he was here to see her, not Spike. She drew the Glock and leveled it at him, but at the same time she swore involuntarily in surprise.

Unintimidated by the gun, he smiled at her. It was a wolfish smile, and she swore again. Jesus, he looks like Eddie when he does that. He said mildly, "You always meet people at the door with a gun?"

He had Eddie's voice, too, quiet and soft, if not quite as deep. She did some quick arithmetic. Hell, of course not as deep, he was only 14. He hadn't grown into it. "What are you doing here?" she asked him. She didn't lower the Glock.

He didn't pretend ignorance or innocence. "I thought we should meet. Don't you think so?"

"No." But he was here. She might as well speak to him. She supposed she owed him that much. She backed, clearing the doorway. "Come on in."

"Thanks. You don't need the gun, you know."

"I'll keep it, just the same." He was just a kid, and there was nothing threatening or even angry or resentful in his expression or body language. Still, she held onto the gun and stayed poised to use it. She didn't know why, but she hadn't lived to this age by ignoring her instincts. "How did you find me?"

He stood in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, looking all around, unhurried and unselfconscious. He had Eddie's eyes, Eddie's smile, and Eddie's voice, but otherwise he was all hers, tall and slim, with a long fine-boned face and her silvery hair. If he stayed around here, in the neighborhood, there was no way she would be able to deny him. In every possible way, he was trouble, and she asked him again, "How did you find me?"

"Father Paul told me where you live."

"Who's Father Paul?"

He turned then to look at her curiously. "At the orphanage. Don't you know?"

"No."

"You don't even know where you dumped me off?"

"I didn't do it. The midwife did. I didn't ask where she took you. She had a good reputation, she could be trusted. How did this Father Paul know where to find me?"

He studied her a moment, then said, "Aren't you going to at least ask me to sit down?"

She thought it over, then indicated the small diningroom table just outside the kitchen door. "You want a glass of milk?"

"Milk? You're joking."

"You're 14. That's all you get."

"At least you know that much about me, my age."

"I'm not the maternal type. I hope that's not what you've come looking for."

He shook his head, taking Spike's chair, smart enough to know she would want the end of the table that placed her back to the wall. She sat opposite, laying the gun on the table, but keeping her hand on it. He answered her, "Father Paul wasn't exactly your average priest. He had a lot of underground contacts."

"Had? Wait. Is this that priest who got murdered? The one that was in all the news, who was selling the kids?"

"That's him."

For the first time, she was sorry for what she'd done. "I didn't know anything about that. I'm sure the midwife didn't, either, or we wouldn't have left you there. I wanted you to be safe."

"Father Paul wasn't there when you left me. Father Thomas was. It was all right, back then."

"Is that why you're here? Did they disband the orphanage?" She had to work to keep her voice calm.

"No, I just ran away. But don't worry, that's not why I'm here, either. I don't need a place to live."

She didn't like it that he could read her so well. "Then what do you want? You didn't go to all the trouble to find me for nothing."

"I was just curious. I wanted to meet you. I wanted to meet my brother, too."

"You stay away from Spike!" she said, much more sharply than she intended. She couldn't comprehend why he unnerved her – after all, he was her son – but he did. Controlling her tone again, she said, "He doesn’t know anything about you. He's just an innocent kid. I want him to stay that way."

"That's all I am. An innocent kid."

"I don't think so."

He smiled, that wolflike smile again. "Maybe not. But I think Spike and I should know each other."

"I don't. I won't allow it. Stay away from him, or, son of mine or not, you'll regret it. And don't think I can't back that threat up."

"I know you can. Do you remember a man called Black Rafe?"

"Yes. A good gun."

"He told me about you."

That explained why the Glock hadn't even made him blink. She let her voice go hard. "Then you know I mean what I say. Stay away from Spike. Leave him alone. You're a danger to him. To me, too, but I can take care of myself. He can't."

Now he was curious. "Why am I such a danger? You don't know anything about me."

"I know all I need to."

"Then I don't know all that I need to. Do I?"

He had a very sharp mind. "You're better off not knowing. Look, I don't have a lot of money, but what I have, I'll give you. Get out of Tharsis City. Get off Mars, if you can. I mean it. You look..." She stopped, shook her head. "Sooner or later, someone's going to see you and add two and two. The wrong someone. Then you're going to end up dead, and me, too, probably. Maybe even Spike."

"Why?" He leaned forward. She had his attention now, when all she really wanted was for him to go far, far away. "Why am I such a threat? I'm not hurting anyone."

She stared at him for a long moment. He had a boy's gangly body, the way they got when they were outgrowing themselves, and a boy's smooth face, but he didn't have a boy's eyes. And if anyone had a right to know this, he did. "It has to do with your father. Do you really want to hear this?"

"I was going to ask you about him. No one at the orphanage knew who he was. Not even Father Paul. And it was nowhere in the records."

"I didn't tell anyone. No one. If I had – if I'd taken that chance – you might not be alive right now. If I tell you now, then you and I are the only ones in this world who know."

He sat back, relaxed. "Then tell me."

"Don't tell anyone else. You'll understand why." She collected her thoughts. She'd denied that period of her life for so long, she actually had to hunt in her mind for it. "Your father's name was Eddie Marcone. He was a capo in the White Tiger syndicate. He was very high in the organization, and trusted. Everyone figured him for the head of the clan, eventually. His only real competition was Carlos Resendez." At his expression, she said, "You know that name?"

"Everybody knows that name."

"Depends on the circles you travel in."

He shrugged. "So why do I know Resendez and not my father's name?"

"The Tigers erased him. Do you know what that means? It means they wiped him out of existence entirely, every bit of evidence he ever existed. When they took him down, they not only killed him, but his whole family – his wife and three little kids. Resendez even tracked down his brother and killed him and his family, and Don wasn't even in the syndicates. Anybody who so much as mentions him now gets severely punished. Do you see the problem? If they knew about you, Resendez would kill you, too, quick as you can blink, just for being Eddie's son. And maybe even me, just for having you."

He didn't look shocked or even upset, simply curious. "What did my father do that was so bad?"

"Eddie was greedy, he was hungry for power, and he liked to push things as far and as fast as he could. First, he stole money from the syndicate, a lot of it. Then he decided to eliminate his competition by setting up Resendez. When the trap didn't work, all the rest of it came out. Eddie was marked, and he ran out of running room in a real short time. He was dead weeks before you were even born. But if it wasn't for him," she admitted, "you wouldn't have been born at all. He wanted you. He thought a kid of his and mine would be good for the syndicate. I didn't agree, but it was what he wanted, so I went along."

"You loved him that much?"

"I wouldn't say that. But I wanted him. Eddie was... exciting. I never in my life felt more alive than when I was with him. Can you understand that? No, not yet, probably."

"Yes I can."

Maybe he could. She said, "He was always moving, planning, doing, and everything he did was on a grand scale. Even on the run, he was full of ideas for getting back in. He made me believe them. Every woman gets to be stupid once in her life. That was my turn. But do you see your problem now? We were discreet. I don't think anyone knew about me in Eddie's life. But if anyone so much as suspected, and they see you – well, the Tigers will be sending some guys around to ask really pointed questions. I don't want that."

"Because you're worried about Spike?"

"And you. And myself. I don't want to die."

"Death isn't so bad."

What kind of attitude was that for a 14 year old kid? Yet she was familiar with it. It was how she had been when she was his age. Unaccustomed guilt made her say fiercely, "Living's a lot better."

He grinned.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I don't know yet."

"You're not going to stay around here, are you?"

"Why would I do that?"

Relieved, she said, "I'll give you what money I have, like I promised."

"I don't need any money." He rose. She did, too. "I don't think I'll be seeing you again," he said.

"I'm sorry. I'm probably not what you expected when you went looking for your mother."

"You're exactly what I expected. But I needed to know a few things, and now I do. I won't bother you again."

When she closed the door behind him, she put the gun back in her belt, where it would remain handy. I don't know, Eddie. I'm not so sure our kid's going to be good for anybody, much less the White Tigers. She made a mental note to start looking for a new apartment tomorrow. Spike would be furious, but she placed no faith in her mere threat being able to keep her other son away from him. As she thought of that, she realized that, stupidly, she hadn't even gotten his name. She'd have to be circumspect questioning Spike about any new friends he'd made recently. Damn! You idiot! It was a measure of how rattled she'd actually been. But she would have to do something. Except for a kind of sardonic amusement, the only real expression which had come into the boy's eyes was when he mentioned Spike. She didn't like that, not one bit.

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

They sat together on a park bench about half a mile from Spike's home, Vicious slouched, legs sprawled, and Spike lighting a cigarette. Spike narrowed his eyes against the acrid smoke and asked, "Did you talk to my mom?"

"For a little. Saturday. I was looking for you, and met her."

"I guess you forgot I'm at the port on Saturdays."

"No, I just forgot it was Saturday. I lose track of the days sometimes. Why? Did she say something? I don't think she liked me much."

Spike shrugged. "She didn't say anything, exactly. It's just that she's all of a sudden gotten nosy about my friends. Especially new friends. And she's acting kinda weird. She said I shouldn't hang out with kids older than me. So I figured she mighta meant you."

Vicious smiled. "I guess I don't make a good impression on mothers."

"None of my friends do. My mom never has liked any of them."

"So what did you tell her about me?"

"Nothing. I acted dumb, like I didn't know what she was talking about. If she doesn't know, she can't order me not to hang out with you."

"What if she asks you straight out? I don't want you to get in trouble."

"I won't. I'll just lie."

"Lie to your mother?"

"I lie to her all the time. You don't know what she's like. If I didn't, I'd never have any fun."

Continue with Prelude, Part 8"

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