“Akiva-”

“Shut up and listen, Jonathan. Follow it up and you’ll see a clapboard structure that looks like a broken-down bed and breakfast. If I’m lucky, I’m at a whorehouse. If not, I’m gonna be shot at really soon.”

“Oh my God!”

“Listen! If I don’t call you back in five minutes, come out and look for me. And whatever you do, don’t call the Quinton Police. Call up the State Police, you understand?”

“Akiva-”

“There’s my date. Gotta go.” He clicked off the phone and stored it in his pocket. “Hey, Plunkett! I’m over here!”

The cabbie turned around and came over to him. “Whacha doing out here?”

“I’m claustrophobic.” Decker’s voice shot bullets. “I’m getting pissed. Yes or no?”

“It’s a go,” Plunkett said. “Calm down, all right?”

Decker exhaled. “Sorry. Let’s go.”

The driver extended his hand. “Hey, my job’s done.”

“Wrong.” Decker grabbed him by the collar. “You go in with me. I like introductions.”

And then he heard the click. Something in his primal consciousness must have anticipated it because his autopilot instantly grabbed the offending wrist. In a smooth, sharp twist, Decker wrested the gun away, feeling the grip slip from the cabbie’s into his own hand. Then he nailed him against the wall, pressing the muzzle of the Smith & Wesson.32 snub-nose against the kid’s Adam’s apple.

Decker sneered. “That wasn’t at all polite.”

“What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Just what I said… an introduction.”

No one spoke, but the breathing was audible, both of them sputtering out big plumes of frosted air, chugging like an old locomotive.

“Why’d you pull a piece on me?” Decker asked at last.

“Why’d you grab me?” Plunkett retorted.

Slowly, Decker lowered the weapon. “Maybe we just had a gross misunderstanding.”

The driver didn’t answer. He licked his lips. “You’re a cop, right?”

Decker didn’t answer.

“A friend of Merrin’s?”

Within seconds, Decker’s heart was battering his breastbone. “You might say that.”

Instant relief in Plunkett’s eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place? You get a discount with that, you know.”

Decker took in the words. Suddenly, Merrin’s nomadic job history in Texas made sense. Lots of whorehouses in the small towns. Slowly, he let go of the kid’s throat. “All right, I appreciate the info. Walk me to the door, and you’ll get your money.”

They eyed each other; then Plunkett took him to the front entrance.

“Open the door,” Decker told him.

Plunkett complied. Decker took a peek inside. Not much greeting him. A darkly lit paneled lobby with a couch and several empty wingback chairs. There was a drinks cart in back of the sofa holding cups and glasses as well as a coffeepot, an urn of hot water, and a half-dozen crystal cut-glass bottles of amber liquids. Decker thought about asking for the liquor license, but at this point, brevity was the soul of safety as well as wit.

He was face-to-face with a walnut desk and the young blonde who was manning it. Dark blue eyes peered up from a face framed by soft shoulder-length hair. She had decent regular features, but was a step short of pretty; her looks dropped a notch from the remnants of adolescent acne on the cheeks, though the pitting was hidden well with makeup and blush. She wore a short-sleeved hot-pink sweater with a plunging neckline, showing off her stunning wares. She looked up at Plunkett, then at Decker, first at his face, then at the gun in his hand. Plunkett smiled.

“I just found out he’s a friend of Merrin’s.”

“Well, that helps.” The woman smiled with slightly crooked teeth, the kind that would have benefited from just a touch of orthodontics. “Come in all the way, sir. Don’t be shy.”

Her voice was smoky. Decker placed the gun in his coat pocket and stuffed the fifty in Plunkett’s hand. “You can go now. Don’t bother to wait. It may take a while.”

The cabbie looked at him. “What about my gun?”

“Where’s your license, Plunkett?”

No response.

“I thought so,” Decker said. “I repeat. You can go now.” Eyes still on the woman, he called Jonathan up. “Call off the posse. Everything’s okay.”

Jonathan was screaming. “Akiva, where are you-”

But Decker turned off the phone, staring at the woman. If she was in her twenties, it wasn’t by much. Her nails were meticulously manicured but with no polish. Decker continued to take in her face.

“What can I do for you, sir? Would you like to see a portfolio of our masseuses?”

Again that breathy voice, raising his heartbeat just a little too high. It took him a few seconds to put himself back in job mode. If anyone would have information, it would be the queen bee, not the worker ants. He caught her eyes and bore in. “I like you.”

She smiled and kept the eye contact. “Sorry, sir. I’m just window dressing.”

Nice and polite. Someone had taught her manners. “You know what, darlin’? That’s okay with me. Right now, all I want to do is talk.”

Eyes fixed on his face, her expression hardening. “Against the rules.”

Decker took out a hundred-dollar bill. “You know, I bet it’s pretty slow right now. We don’t even have to tell anyone.” He winked. “Please?”

Stealing a quick glance over her right shoulder. Decker followed it and made out a small door that blended neatly with the lobby’s paneling. Someone was behind there. No doubt someone with a gun. Again she shook her head, her carriage holding the confidence of big-time protection. Merrin had his fingers in a lot of pies. She kept her eyes on Decker’s. “No can do, sir.”

“I’m a very good friend of Chief Merrin’s,” Decker persisted.

“I’m glad to hear that, sir, but that’s completely irrelevant-other than the ten-percent discount. Which I’m happy to extend to you for any of our massage therapists.”

“So that’s what they’re calling themselves nowadays.”

Abruptly, her eyes turned gelid, a very familiar expression, though he couldn’t quite place it. And then, in a flash, it came to him-that “Of course, you idiot” sudden brand of insight that made you want to hit your forehead. He smiled slightly, giving her a superior look. “And what would you do… if I told you that C.D. sent me?”

A red wash permeated her cheeks. Again a glimpse behind her back. “ID, please?”

Decker took out his driver’s license. She took it, got up, and locked the front door, hair brushing over her shoulders as she walked. She wore a black leather miniskirt and spiked heels. He watched her rear sway as she disappeared behind the panel-hidden cubby. Five minutes later, she returned. Without a word, she took Decker’s hand, leading him up the stairs. Her expression had turned blank, not a hint of defiance. There was no eye contact this time. Some mysterious, hidden voice had told her to behave. Failure to do so would have serious repercussions.