“I bet you would have. Ever see a woman show up, dark hair, well dressed?”

“Pretty?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I seen her. Seeing her always cheered up my day.”

“How often she show up?”

“Once or twice a week.”

“Have you seen her in the last couple of days?”

“Come to think of it, no.”

“You see anyone peculiar show up instead of her?”

“You mean other than you?”

“Yes, other than me.”

“Bow tie.”

“You don’t say.”

“Little man, near bald, in a black Volvo.”

“When?”

“Couple times.”

“How long you been sitting out here?”

“How long you been breathing?”

“That’s what I thought,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Good luck to you, young man.”

“Yeah,” I said. I stood up, patted the old man on the shoulder, went back to the Camaro, where Derek and Antoine leaned against the hood, their arms crossed.

“What’s the word, bo?” said Derek.

I thought about it for a moment. I didn’t like the crowd of squatters we’d have to wade through to get inside, I didn’t trust that things wouldn’t spiral way out of control. But then I didn’t like the crowd behind me either, Trocek and Swift and Sims and Hanratty, a vicious gang of cutthroats and cops that all seemed to be aiming their malevolence at me.

“The word is,” I said, “that we’re going in.”

“Then let’s do it,” said Antoine.

I took the lead, Antoine and Derek walking on either side of me. I was like a Piper Cub with an undersize fighter plane off one wing and a Boeing 757 off the other. On the porch of the house, five or six of the squatters were lounging on a bench or on the stoop, eyeing us suspiciously as we made our approach. Let’s just say the welcome mat wasn’t being cleaned and pressed for our visit.

“What you want here?” said a woman sitting closest to the door. She had short hair and a wide jaw, and her arms were crossed.

“We came to see the owner,” I said.

“You from the city?”

“No,” I said.

“You’re not here about them back taxes? He been getting letters.”

“No, we’re not from the city.”

“You cops, then?”

“Not that either,” I said. “I’m simply a friend of a friend. And these are my friends. We came to say hello.”

“In a suit?”

“I like to play it formal. My name’s Victor Carl.”

“I got to check with Romeo afore I let you in.”

“Romeo, huh? Is that what he’s calling himself? That’s almost sweet. Well, then, by all means check with Romeo. Tell him Victor Carl is here to see him. I’m sure Romeo will think it’s time we met at last.”

The woman eyed us for a moment longer and then pushed herself off of the bench, pulled open the screen door, and slipped into the house. A moment later she came back through the doorway, the screen door slamming behind her.

“Romeo’ll be out in a minute,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“Maybe you should wait on that,” she said before sitting down again.

When the screen door opened once more, standing there wasn’t a dissolute drug addict with curly dark locks and a pout as I expected. Instead it was a giant of a man, with no neck and a shirt that hung over his belly like a curtain. A man to make Antoine look small.

“Where’s Romeo?” I said.

“I’m Romeo,” said the man, his voice deep enough to send wild dogs scurrying.

“You got to be kidding,” I said.

“Time to go,” said Romeo.

“I’m here to see Terry,” I said.

“That too bad,” said Romeo, “’cause Terry told me he don’t want to see no one.”

“But he’ll want to see Victor here,” said Derek. “We’ve traveled five hundred miles to find him. Why don’t you let us in there, Romeo? We’re just a friendly little crew. No reason to make a fuss about this.”

“There isn’t going to be no fuss,” said Romeo.

“You right about that,” said Antoine, taking a step forward.

“Antoine?” said Romeo, squinting down at him.

“Hey there, Bradley,” said Antoine. “You look like you eating at least.”

“You not starving yourself neither.”

“What the hell are you doing here, bwoy? Last time I saw you, there was work in Boston you were headed to.”

“It didn’t pan out.”

“So now you hanging out here with this motley bunch.”

Romeo shrugged. “It’s a place.”

“This is step back, bruddah.”

“I’m doing the best I can.”

“Well, bwoy, that’s just sad, that is. Now we’re going inside to talk to this man. And, Bradley, you don’t want to be getting in our way.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Antoine.”

“It’s not me you should be fearing, bwoy. Step aside, or I’ll tell your muddah what you’re up to, and she’ll tell Earl, and then Earl, he will lick you for sure.”

“Not from where he is.”

“Stop playing the fool, mon. You think he can’t reach out from lockup to take care of his likkle bruddah?”

Romeo stared at Antoine for a moment, licked his lips, and then stepped back, keeping the screen door open.

“Up the stairs,” he said, “room at the back.”

“You done right, bwoy,” said Antoine, brushing past Romeo to step inside the house. Derek and I glanced at each other nervously and then quickly followed.

The inside of the house was dark, filthy, a fetid swamp covered with a foul mist of smoke and despair. The living room, if it could still be called that, was crowded with mattresses and sleeping bags and dazed humans lounging lethargically as a large-screen television flickered. It smelled like feces and sweat, laced with marihuana. Two dogs yapped at us and snarled before someone threw a shoe. I started itching just being in there. On the far side of the room was a narrow staircase. We picked our way past the mattresses and sleeping bags. A hand grabbed at my ankle, and I kicked it off.

A few ghosts, languid and vacant, drifted down the stairs. As we rose past them, the sounds of a rock ’n’ roll band and a plaintive male voice climbed above the noise of the television. A whining, complaining voice wailing about bitter pills and love and loss.

On the second floor, there were four doors closed, the sounds of slow shuffling movement coming from within one, from another a groaning. And then the music, sad and angry and wistful all at once coming from the rear room, the front man not really singing, more howling out in desperation. Follow the voice, I figured.

A girl was sitting on the floor in front of the door, picking at a thumbnail.

“Terry in there?” I said.

She looked up at me, a pretty girl, young and thin, her face a terrifying blank.

“Let’s go, sister,” said Antoine, putting out his big mitt.

She placed her tiny hand in his and stood up slowly, swaying once before she moved away from the door.

I gave her a long look and then said to Antoine, “Wait out here. Make sure we’re not disturbed.”

“Not a problem, mon.”

I turned to Derek, nodded once, and pushed the door open. A waft of sickeningly sweet smoke tumbled out of the doorway along with the earsplitting music.

Together we pressed inside.