'It's not enough.'

Edward grabbed his jacket. 'I'm out of here.'

'Wait. Where are you going?'

'Goodbye.'

'We need to talk this out.'

'The hell we do.'

'Edward-'

He ran out the back door, slamming it behind him.

Jessica turned back to her mother. Her sobs were gut-wrenching. Jessica watched for a minute or two. Then she turned and left the kitchen.

Roy O'Connor was already in the back booth when Myron arrived. His glass was empty, and he was sucking on an ice cube. He sounded like an aardvark near an anthill.

'Hey, Roy.'

O'Connor nodded to the seat across the table, not bothering to stand. He wore gold rings that disappeared under the folds of flesh in his chubby unstained hands. His fingernails were manicured. He was somewhere between forty-five and fifty-five years old, but it was impossible to tell where. He was balding, wearing the ever-desirable swept-over look, parting his hair just below the armpit.

'Nice place, Roy,' Myron said. 'A table in the back, low lights, soft romantic music. If I didn't know better-'

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O'Connor shook his head. 'Look, Bolitar, I know you think you're a regular Buddy Hackett, but give it a rest, okay?'

'I guess flowers are out, then.' Pause. Then: 'Buddy Hackett?'

'We need to talk.'

'I'm all ears.'

A waitress came over. 'Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?'

'Another,' Roy said, pointing to his glass.

'And for you?'

'Do you have Yoo-hoo?' Myron asked.

'I think so.'

'Great. I'll have one.'

She left. Roy shook his head. 'A fucking Yoo-hoo,' he mumbled.

'Did you say something?'

'Your goon visited me last night.'

'Your goons visited me first,' Myron said.

'I had nothing to do with that.'

Myron gave him his best 'come off it' look of pure skepticism. The waitress put down the drinks. Roy scooped up his martini as if it held a lifesaving antidote. Myron, by contrast, sipped his Yoo-hoo daintily. Ever the gentleman.

'Look, Myron,' O'Connor continued, 'it's like this. I signed Landreaux. I gave him money up front. I gave him money every month. I kept my part of the bargain.'

'You signed him illegally.'

I'm not the first guy to do it,' he said.

'Nor the last. What's your point, Roy?'

'Look, you know me. You know how I operate.'

Myron nodded. 'You're a chicken-shitted crook.'

I might have threatened the kid. Fine. I've done that before. But that's it.

I'd never really hurt anybody.'

'Uh-huh.'

'Word would get out to the athletes. I'd be ruined.'

'Damn shame that would be.'

'Bolitar, you're not making this any easier.'

I'm not trying to.'

O'Connor grabbed the drink again. He finished it and signaled to the waitress for another. 'I've gotten involved with the wrong people,' he said.

'What do you mean?'

I worked up some big-time gambling debts. Debts I couldn't pay off.'

'So they took a piece of your business.'

Roy nodded. 'They control me now. Your - your friend from last night.

A Geiger counter could have registered the quake in his voice when he mentioned Win. I want to do just what he said, but I don't have the power anymore.'

92

Myron took another sip of his Yoo-hoo, hoping he wasn't getting one of those chocolate mustaches. 'My friend won't be pleased to hear that.'

'You have to tell him it's not me.'

'Then who is it?'

Roy sat back, shaking his head. 'I can't say. But I can tell you they play for keeps. And they don't understand a thing about this business. They think they can just scare everyone into compliance. They want to make an example out of someone.'

'And Landreaux is the example?'

'Landreaux. And you. They want to hurt Landreaux. They want to kill you. They're putting out a contract on your head.'

Another cool sip. Myron said nothing.

'You don't seem very worried,' Roy said.

'I laugh in the face of death,' Myron replied. 'Well, maybe not laugh.

More like a snicker. A quiet snicker.'

'Jesus, you're a lunatic.'

'And I wouldn't do it directly in death's face. So it's more like a quiet snicker behind his back.'

'Bolitar, this isn't funny.'

'No,' Myron agreed. 'It's not. I strongly suggest you call them off.'

'Haven't you heard a word I've said? I got no control here.'

If something happens to me, my friend will be very upset. He'll take it out on you.'

Roy swallowed. 'But I'm powerless. You have to believe that.'

'Then tell me who's calling the shots.'

I can't.'

Myron shrugged. 'Maybe we can be buried next to one another. One of those romantic tragedy things.'

'They'll kill me if I say anything.'

'What do you think my friend will do to you?'

Roy shuddered. He sucked on the ice again, trying to salvage the last remnants of the martini. 'Where is that damn bimbo with my drink?'

'Who's calling the shots, Roy?'

'You didn't hear it from me, right?'

'Right.'

'You won't tell them?'

'Mum's the word.'

One more ice suck. Then Roy said, 'Ache.'

'Herman Ache?' Myron asked, surprised. 'Herman Ache is behind this?'

Roy shook his head. 'His younger brother. Frank. He's out of control. I don't know what the psycho will do next.'

Frank Ache. It made sense. Herman Ache was one of New York's leading mobsters, responsible for countless misery. But next to his younger brother

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Frank, Herman was an Alan Alda clone. Aaron would enjoy working for someone like Frank.

This was not good news. Myron toyed with the idea of dropping the snicker altogether. 'Anything else you can tell me?'

'No. I just don't want anyone hurt.'

'You're some guy, Roy. So selfless.'

O'Connor stood. 'I got nothing more to say.'

'I thought we were going to have lunch.'

'Have it by yourself,' O'Connor said. 'It's on my tab.'

'Won't be the same without your company.'

'Yet somehow you'll muddle through.'

Myron picked up the menu. I'll try.'

17

Who else to call?

The answer, Jessica realized, was obvious.

Nancy Serat. Kathy's roommate and closest friend.

Jessica sat at her father's desk. The lights were turned off, the shades were pulled down, but the sunlight was still strong enough to sneak through and cast shadows.

Adam Culver had done everything he could to make his home office radically different from the cement, institutional, macabre feel of the county morgue. The results were mixed. The converted bedroom had bright yellow walls, plenty of windows, silk flowers, white Formica desk. Teddy bears encircled the room. William Shakesbear. Rhett Beartler with Scarlett O'Beara. Bear Ruth. Bearlock Holmes. Humphrey Beargart with Lauren Bearcall. The whole atmosphere was cheerful, albeit a forced cheerful, like a clown you laugh at but find a little scary.

She took her phone book from her purse. Nancy had sent the family a card a few weeks ago. She had won some fellowship and was staying on campus to work in admissions. Jessica looked up her number and dialed.

On the third ring the answering machine picked up. Jessica left a message and hung up. She was about to start going through the drawers when a voice stopped her.