He needed someone with no connection to him or Levy. The only other person Bolton would know on the outside was Hank Thompson.

Now there's a thought.

High-profile guy… low-profile guy… put them together…

And hadn't Thompson said the Dormentalists and Scientologists were after him because so many of their members were becoming Kickers? What if they had him under surveillance? And what if Thompson and Bolton were meeting on the outside? Maybe the rivals would want to know who he was meeting with. And when they investigated Bethlehem they'd find… Jeremy Bolton.

"Get me all you know about Hank Thompson."

Levy shook his head. "That's privileged—"

"You want this fixed or not?"

Levy hesitated, then shrugged. "I'll dig out whatever I've got."

"Do it tonight. I'll be doing a little digging myself."

"Where?"

"I'll let you know if I find anything."

Levy hesitated, then said, "There's something you should know about Jeremy Bolton."

"I'm sure there's plenty I should know about Jeremy Bolton. What've you got?"

"Don't underestimate him. He comes on as a laid-back, shit-kicking good ol' boy, but he tests high on all the intelligence scales, and he's done a lot of reading in the past twenty years. His major shortcoming is his impulsiveness. If you can keep him off balance, he'll act before he thinks. But give him time to think…"

"So I'm dealing with a smart but explosive sociopath." Levy nodded. "With a lot of native cunning. Watch out." Jack had every intention of doing just that. He'd handle Bolton from a distance.

"Thanks for the heads up. Now, how about driving me back to my car?" Conditions permitting, Jack would be paying a visit to the Jerry Bethlehem crib tonight.

7

As he hit route 9, Jack fingered the bribe money in his pocket. He'd use it to discount the fee he was charging Christy. Checking his messages he found a frantic call from her telling him that her Dawnie had moved out and that Jack had to find something on Bethlehem now-now-now! Call her please-please-please!

So he called and ground his teeth as she told her tearful tale of doing everything he'd advised her not to, then compounding it by trying to buy off Bolton—and failing.

That took Jack by surprise. A guy like Bolton who'd been locked up all of his adult life had never seen anything like that kind of money.

Or had he? He did live awfully well…

The upshot of all this was that Dawn hadn't come home last night. But worse, when Christy had gone food shopping today she'd returned to find a lot of Dawn's things missing. She'd sneaked in and moved out.

Each sob was a blade of guilt. He could end Christy's pain with a single phone call, but that could mean the start of endless trouble for himself. He didn't see Bolton as a threat to Dawn—at least not yet.

He calmed Christy by telling her his plan to get close to Bethlehem and get to know him. Maybe he'd let something slip.

"I really screwed up, didn't I," she said.

Jack wanted to chew her out for not taking his advice but couldn't see how that would help matters. He wasn't about to disagree with her, however.

"Yeah, you did. You made accusations you couldn't back up."

Her voice rose in pitch. "My daughter's shacked up with a murderer!"

"You cant say that. He has an alibi." A shaky one, but an alibi nonetheless.

"1 can't stand this! I don't know how much—!"

"Easy, easy," he said, using a soothing tone.

Too much of that kind of talk might trigger some oDNA-type behavior in Bolton.

A mutant trigger gene… oDNA… Jack shook his head. He couldn't believe he was thinking like this.

He said, "As I said, we don't know that he did it. Private eyes make enemies. I'm working on a number of angles, but they're going to take a little time."

"I don't have time."

"You may have more time than you think. He didn't take the money, and that wasn't chump change. To me that says Dawn means more to him than just a young girl he can…" He hunted for the right word.

Christy saved him the trouble. "Go ahead, you can say it: screw"

Yeah. That and maybe… the Key to the future…

"The point is, if he means to harm her, he'd have grabbed the money, done his harm, and taken off. But he chose not to."

She sniffed. "I have to tell you, Jack, that baffles me. 1 know it sounds awful for a mother to say, but what does this guy see in Dawnie? Don't get me wrong, she has a sweet nature—although it's not too evident at the moment—and she's a smart, smart kid, but that's just it: She's a kid, and a naive one at that. What does he see in her?"

Good question. Especially in light of the fact that Bolton had insisted on being relocated in Rego Park. Had he chosen the town out of the air, or did he have a specific reason? Like being next to Forest Hills?

Could Dawn have been that reason?

… the Key to the future…

But Bolton had been behind bars before Dawn was born. As far as Jack knew, she'd never been a media figure like the Long Island Lolita of yore, so how would he have even heard of her?

So if not Dawn, then what was it? What was so special about Rego Park?

He said, "I don't know what's going on in his head, so I can't answer that. But I think his refusing the money is a good sign that we're not in a dangerous situation here."

"Not yet."

"My point is, you've got to back off now. Sit tight, do your day trades, and let me do what I do."

"You've got something planned?"

"I do."

"What?"

"If 1 works out, you'll know. If not, it won't matter. Do you know Bethlehem's address?"

"I should. I've driven by it often enough."

She gave him directions to his townhouse and to the diner where Dawn worked.

Jack hung up just in time to turn into the Ardsley service area. He found a parking spot and watched the entry ramp. He hadn't seen anyone following him, and the only car that pulled in after him was a Dodge minivan. It parked near the food court and a horde of tweeny girls in soccer uniforms piled out.

Satisfied, Jack backed up to where Bolton had parked two nights ago. He grabbed an electric screwdriver and one of his real-fake license plates from under the front seat. He slipped around to the back and opened the trunk. While pretending to be searching for something, he substituted it for the fake-fake tag he'd put on this afternoon—one of half a dozen he'd bought from Sal Vituolo's junkyard on Staten Island. Then he reparked the car nose in, opened the hood, and switched the front plate.

No use in giving anything away to any curious types in Rathburg.

He got back behind the wheel and headed for Queens.

8

Jack had driven by Bolton's townhouse. Lots of lights on but was anyone home? He needed to be sure before he broke in. He'd checked the Tower Diner—brick walls, canopied windows, pillars at the entrance, and a clock tower, for Christ sake. What kind of a diner looked like that? More like a bank.

He'd looked through one of the windows and seen Dawn, but no sign of Bolton.

The next and last stop was Work. If he didn't find Bolton there, he'd have to assume he was home and put off the break-in for another night.

The place was crowded, with someone singing off-key over distorted guitars blasting from the sound system, but what did he expect on a Saturday night?

Jack wove through the crowd and made his way to the bar. He wasn't look-ing for a drink, just a vantage point. He reached the corner and started looking around. He'd brought his camera just in case he found Bolton in a corner with a lip lock on one of the waitresses. A photo of that might pry Dawn out of his bed.

He did a slow scan of the front end—no sign of him here—and was starting toward the pool tables at the rear, when someone grabbed his arm.