“Shucks,” I said, still feeling her tongue in my gullet.

“Aw,” she said. “Poor baby.” Another soft shove. “Why should I let you fuck me? We barely know each other.”

“A guy can hope.”

Laughing, she took my hand as she led me back toward the construction mess.

“Where’re we off to?” I said.

She pointed to the remnants of the pier. “I love it up there – the way it just goes off into nowhere.”

“Eternity.”

“Yeah.”

As we neared the peeled-back fence, I said, “Is it safe?”

More laughter. “Who knows?” She pulled me onto the broken promenade, let go of my hand, and began skipping along the warped boards. I felt the wood beneath my feet hum in response. My toe caught on a splintered shank, and I almost lost my balance. Cheryl was well ahead of me, dancing across planks separated enough for black water to shine through. I watched her pick up speed, break into a run toward the pier’s shattered end, as if building momentum for a high dive.

She stopped short, inches from the edge, shoulders thrown back, hair wild, hands set on the arc of flesh that curved above the waistline of her jeans. I caught up just as she crossed her arms and pulled off her sweater and her T-shirt, flung both garments aside. The manufactured breasts bobbled like saddlebags as laughter shook her upper body, nipples big and erect and aimed skyward like the heat-seeking weapons they were.

She edged backward, so that the heels of her running shoes tipped over the pier’s terminus. Vertigo clamped around my gut as she began bouncing lightly, and I backed away.

“Aw,” she said, “c’mon. It’s a great feeling.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Flying’s not your thing?”

“Not tonight.”

She bounced some more, spread her arms. “Probably not any night. What if not doing it means I don’t fuck you?”

“Like I said before. Aw shucks.”

Louder giggles, but shaky, tinged with hurt.

She began sidestepping along the edge. Breathing fast, she spoke again, her voice constricted. “Pretty cool, huh? I could always balance.”

“Impressive.”

“I can swallow swords, too.”

“Spent some time with the circus?”

“Something like that.” She reached the far end, sidestepped her way back, stood on one foot, arched the other behind her, into space. I watched and didn’t say a word and wondered how I’d ever get across the concept of danger. She began humming tunelessly. Closed her eyes. Walked several steps, blind.

Humming but not without fear. Starlit streams of sweat ran from her armpits and coursed the swell of her chest. She began gasping for breath but kept going.

Finally – without warning – she stepped away from the void and shouted “Yes!” at the sky. Massaged her breasts and shouted again. Then she sat down on the misshapen planks, drew her knees to her chin, lowered her head.

“You okay?” I said.

“I’m great – C’mere.”

I stepped closer, and she pulled me down beside her. “You’re a wimp, but you’re cute.” Nuzzling my neck, she leaned her head on my shoulder. “We could do it right here. If I was into doing it.” She grabbed my hair, tugged gently, then harder. “The picture in my mind is we’re back there.” Hooking a thumb at the edge. “You on bottom, me on top, with your head hanging over the side, and you’re looking up at me, deep inside me, your balls knocking against my ass, so into how I’m making you feel that you wouldn’t care even if you did fall over – how does that sound?”

“I’m open to new experiences, but-”

“You’re saying no?”

“I’m saying I’d rather live a few more years.”

“Wimp,” she said, airily. “You’d turn down something like that ’cause of a little danger?” Patting me on the head with smiling contempt, she stood, bent low, swung her breasts toward my mouth, then curved away.

“Too bad, little man. I need dedication,” she said in a hard voice. “Had enough of wimps and losers-”

I got up on my feet. “Tony Duke’s a wimp?”

Smiling, she came toward me. Reached out a hand and stroked my hair again. Polished nails spit back starlight. Touching the tip of my chin, she reared back and slapped me hard across the mouth. My head rocked, and my teeth buzzed as if I’d sucked current from a live wire.

“You don’t know me, don’t make like you do.”

My lip throbbed. When I touched it, my fingers came away wet.

“You ruined the mood,” she said.

“By not hanging over the edge.”

“Aw,” she said. “You really are a wimp – your loss.” She patted her crotch. “What I’ve got here could snap you like a turtle and drain you like a pump.”

Practiced patter. Hooker talk.

Had she freelanced, just like Lauren? Between skating and dancing, or had it been her main gig before meeting Ben Dugger and Tony Duke?

She wiggled back into her shirt and sweater, spread her legs – not enticingly, a combat stance – and shot me the finger. “He thinks he’s so smart.”

Putting me in third person. The grammar was more than symbolic, and I knew more was wrong than my failure to meet her sexual demands.

An audience. Before I could put the threat in place, figure out what to do, a man emerged from the shadows at the other end of the pier. Approached us.

Cheryl turned her back and walked toward him. He was barely visible because, unlike her, he’d dressed for concealment.

Black sweatsuit, black shoes. He and Cheryl met in the center of the pier. Everything rehearsed – I’d been the only one ad-libbing.

“He thinks he’s smart,” said Cheryl.

Kent Irving said nothing. His brassy hair had been tied back in a ponytail, emphasizing the breadth of his round, ruddy face. Impassive face. Something silvery and reflective in his right hand.

Cheryl flashed teeth and tucked her white T-shirt tight.

“Baby,” she said.

Irving’s one-lipped mouth stayed shut.

“It’s good you came when you did, baby,” she told him. “He was ready to fuck me blind, would’ve raped me and tossed me over the edge.”

She kissed his ear. Irving still didn’t react. He stepped closer. I had nowhere to go but into eternity, but I stepped backward anyway. The automatic in his hand was level with my face.

“He thinks we’re stupid, baby,” said Cheryl. “Thinks he can just happen to be boating by, just happen to be sitting there doing his crossword puzzle like it’s some big fucking coincidence and we’re not gonna suspect anything. Asshole.”

I said, “Suspicion’s a two-way street. The police know I’m here.”

She said, “Right.” Irving remained silent and still. How far was the drop? How high was the tide? Would I hit water or slam into hard-packed sand, collapsing my spine like a twig? If I could calculate the drop in the darkness, would rolling on my side help, allow me to escape with only crushed ribs, internal injuries? I hadn’t consulted a tide chart, had no reason to, terrific planning -

Kent Irving walked some more, and I stood my ground. The barrel of the gun was ten feet away. Chromium lips and a tiny black mouth that said, “Oh.”

Cheryl stayed behind Irving, yammering, showing all those teeth, tossing her goddamned hair -

“Enough,” Irving told her, in that thin, high voice.

She pouted. “Sure, baby – you saved me, baby. He was an animal, would’ve rammed me without mercy, just used me and threw me away.” She placed a hand on his meaty shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Yeah, baby, so you saved me. You’re gonna be happy you did.”

“You really think it’s happy days?” I said. “The police really do know I’m here. Meeting you, Cheryl. He can’t afford that. You’re expendable – just like Baxter and Sage-”

“Enough,” Irving said, softly. Same word he’d used with Cheryl. The lack of inflection said it all.

No sweat, no strain. Eyes as animated as gravel. Business as usual.

Maybe he’d hired someone to shoot Lauren and Michelle and Lance and Jane, but if he had, it had been out of convenience, not apprehension. He could pull that trigger like brushing his teeth. Eat breakfast moments later without giving it a second thought.