4.

The phone rang as Alicia was readying to call it a day. Raymond was gone already so she picked up herself.

"This is Detective Will Matthews. Is that you, Alicia?"

"Yes," she said as brightly as she could. "How are you?"

Oh, hell. More bad news?

She'd had another call from the hospital attorney this morning, asking her if she'd had any second thoughts about her child molestation charge against Floyd Stevens. Now what?

"I'm fine," he said. "Well, the reason I called is I may have some good news for you."

"About Stevens?"

"The one and only."

"He's pleading guilty?"

"No, but almost as good. I'd like to tell you all about it over dinner."

Alicia felt her hackles rise. "Will… if this involves the charges I brought against him, don't you think—?"

"Nothing directly to do with your charges. If you insist, I'll tell you now, but if you don't have plans, I'd prefer to do it over an early dinner. I promise, you won't be disappointed."

Alicia hesitated. First lunch, then dinner, then… what?

I don't have time for this.

But if he'd been checking into Stevens on his own time and had come up with something helpful, how could she refuse?

"Okay, then," she said. "Dinner it is. When and where?" He asked if she liked Italian. When she told him she did, he gave her the address of a trattoria on Seventh Avenue about ten blocks up from the Center. He'd meet her there in half an hour.

Good news, he'd said. She hoped so. She could dearly use some.

5.

"You must eat here often," Alicia said as the two of them settled into a booth built for four.

Alicia had arrived early. Normally she would have walked. But despite Jack's assurance that no one would bother her before Monday's meeting with the lawyers, she'd taken a cab.

Will showed up a few minutes later. The maitre d' had greeted him with a big smile, and three people from the bar had called hello.

He shrugged. "I guess if I hang out anyplace, it's here. But we're talking once or twice a week."

Is this where you were last night? she wondered. If you'd been walking behind me instead of Jack, Thomas and his bully boys would be in jail right now and this whole mess would be settled.

"I thought cops hung out at cop bars."

"They do. I spent a couple of years funneling money into Midtown. South's favorite watering hole, but you know… you get tired of cop talk all the time. At least I do. Here I'm just Will Matthews, who happens to be a cop."

A waiter stopped by with a basket of rolls and long anorectic Italian bread sticks. After checking with her, Will ordered a bottle of Chianti classico, then he leaned forward.

"Let's get to the latest on Floyd Stevens."

He held out the breadbasket and she took a bread stick.

"Please." She bit off the end of the stick with a decisive snap.

"I've been tailing him."

"They let you do that?" she said, surprised. "I mean with all the other crime going on—"

"I wish. No, I did this on my own time."

"Your own time?" If Alicia had been surprised seconds ago, she was shocked now. "But why?"

"I told you. I used to work Vice, and I know these creeps. They're out of control. You interrupted him, so I figure he might not have gotten what he wanted. And that meant he'd be on the prowl again real soon. So as soon as I got off duty, I made it to the Upper West Side and hung around outside his place, waiting for him to come in or go out."

"And?"

"Last night he went out. Walked down to the garage where he keeps his car and drove straight to the Minnesota Strip."

"What's that?"

"A place you'll probably never see. It's sort of a sex supermarket, full of prostitutes of all ages and all sexes."

"All sexes? I know of only two."

"Well, there are the in-betweens. Let's see… how do I put this… guys who've been changed on top—you know, breast implants and hormone treatments on the skin—but remain fully equipped below… they're a hot item on the Strip."

"Wonderful."

Will shrugged. "They're a pretty pathetic crew down there, but personally it doesn't bother me. Whatever gets you through the night. But when the pimps start putting kids out for the chicken hawks—"

"Chicken hawks?" This is like a new language, Alicia thought. "What's that?"

"Most times it refers to gays who cruise for very young male prostitutes, but I use it for anybody, straight or bent, looking for too-young stuff."

"Chickens," Alicia said, feeling queasy. "Young, tender, defenseless."

She looked at Will. So clean-cut, almost boyish-looking with that short blond hair; his job put him in almost daily contact with humankind at its worst, yet he seemed to have remained untainted somehow.

"That's what they like. And Floyd Stevens is one of them. I followed him. He knew exactly where he was going—in fact, I think he must have called ahead, because there was somebody waiting at a corner with a very young-looking girl when he pulled up. The kid got into the car and the two of them drove away."

The bread stick crumbled in Alicia's hand as her anger flared. "And you let him?"

"Of course not. But I didn't want to complicate things by nabbing him myself—didn't want that lawyer raising any questions of entrapment or harassment—so as I followed him into the dock area, I patched through to a couple of guys I know on Vice. They waited till he parked, snuck up on him, and caught him in the act."

"Wow will someone take him off the streets?" she said, brushing the crumbs off her lap.

"He is off the street. At least for the time being. He's locked up, charged with having sex with a minor."

"And that's your good news? Another poor kid was molested by this creep?"

"Don't you see?" Will said, looking a little hurt. "He's not going to walk away from this one. Now he's got two sexual molestation charges in one week. He can't threaten or buy his way out when the witnesses are cops. He's going to be too busy defending himself to go after you. You're off the hook."

… Off the hook…

Alicia slumped back against the padded back of the booth as the truth of Will's words seeped past her anger at Floyd Stevens.

"Oh, my God," she said softly. "You're right. He can't say he never touched Kanessa. Can't say I imagined it all and overreacted."

"And best yet," Will said. "He's going down for last night. He's going to do time."

Alicia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She felt as if a small planet had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Thank you," she said, looking at Will. She felt a sudden burst of warmth for this man, this good, good man. "What you did is above and beyond duty. I… I don't know what to say." Impulsively, she reached across the table and clutched his hand. "Thank you."

He shook his head. "Nailed a perv and helped a very special lady out of a jam. Trust me. The pleasure was all mine."

Alicia realized that Will had cupped her hand in both of his. She couldn't pull away now… and wasn't sure she wanted to.

The waiter's arrival with the wine broke the spell.

Will made a big display of aerating the tasting portion of the Chianti, checking its legs, sniffing it, swirling it in his mouth, doing everything but gargling with it, then he swallowed and puckered his face into an awful grimace.

"This is swill!" he told the waiter. "Take it out back and pour it down a storm drain!"

The waiter snorted. "Yeah," he said with a crooked smile. "Like you'd know."

He poured Alicia a glass, then casually added more to Will's.

"I'm like Rodney Dangerfield here," Will said, shaking his head. "No respect."

"With beer, you maybe got credentials," the waiter said. "But wine? Fuhgheddaboudit."