"That's mine! That's-mine-that's-mine-that's-MINE!"

"Wrong," Jack said in a low voice. "Never yours."

Thompson squeezed his eyes shut and gave out a long, inarticulate roar.

Levy looked ready to jump out of his skin. He shouted over Thompson's screech. "What do we do now?"

Jack wasn't sure. He'd gone with his gut instead of his head. Never a good thing.

Well, at least he had the book. Now he had to come up with an exit strategy, a way to leave Hank Thompson in the dust. Sure as hell couldn't sit here much longer with a guy hanging out the window.

He checked out the street ahead. The cab was long gone, leaving the space ahead of them clear. The light was green but the pedestrian sign was flashing orange.

"Start moving… easy," he shouted back.

Levy gave him a panicked look over his shoulder. "But he's still—"

"Just do it. And be ready to floor it and make a left onto Fifth when I tell you."

As Levy put the car in gear and let it edge forward, Thompson stopped his screeching.

"Hey!" He had to start walking to keep up with the car. "What're you doing?"

"Going for a ride." He tapped Levy's backrest with his left hand while his right found the window button. "A little faster."

"No!" Thompson cried as fear started crowding the rage from his face. "No, don't! You can't!"

The Infiniti reached the corner just as the light turned orange. Jack lowered the window and gave Thompson's head a shove.

"Hit it! Go!"

Levy glanced back. When he saw that Thompson was free, he did indeed hit it. The Infiniti screeched onto Fifth Avenue.

"Dear God, that was awful! Who do you think you are? You can't go around doing that to people."

Jack didn't answer. He glanced back through the rear window and saw Thompson sprawled on the pavement.

"He's probably memorized my plates by now. He'll be calling the police and before you know it—"

Thompson didn't stay down long. In a heartbeat he was up and racing after them.

"He won't be calling the cops."

"Why not? You assaulted and robbed him."

"He's not about to report the loss of something he stole."

"Stole? From whom?"

"Me."

Ahead, the light at 38th Street turned green but ears were backed up. waiting to move. Levy slowed to a crawl.

Jack said, "If you check behind us you'll see an angry man coming our way."

"What?" Levy straightened in his seat and looked in the rearview mirror. "Oh, no."

"If you want to avoid another scene and perhaps some vehicular damage, I suggest you get moving."

The cars ahead began to move, but slowly.

Another backward glance showed Thompson gaining, and quickly. Murder in his eyes, veins standing out on his neck… his face was scarlet, his mouth working—looked like he was screaming a lot of words beginning with the letter F—and… was that foam flecking his lips?

"In your professional opinion, doc, would you say that we've yanked his trigger gene and his oDNA is in the driver seat?"

"Dear God!" Levy wailed.

Finally the traffic got rolling. A lane opened ahead and Levy darted into it, leaving Thompson in the dust, but still running, still screaming, still waving his arms as honking cars swerved around him.

"Guy could do with a little anger management."

Levy was panting as if he'd been running. "Now you know what happens when you push an oDNA-loaded man like Thompson over the edge."

Had to admit it had been an awe-inspiring exhibition of rage. Jack had had his share of rages over the years, but they tended toward the cold type—subzero cold.

Levy glanced over his shoulder. "You put us through all that for a book? Why?"

"Well, number one: He had it and it's mine. And number two: It's mine and he had it."

Jack resisted the urge to open the Compendium and leaf through it to the Kicker Man page. This was not the time or place.

"Where can I drop you off?" Levy said. "I've got to get back home."

"Not yet. I'm going to work on getting you those samples from my customer."

"Customer? You mean client?"

Something about having "clients" had always bothered Jack, but he was playing the private investigator now.

"Right. Client. If I can work a meet with her I can probably get you those samples. I want you around so I can give them to you. No sense in you driving all the way back in from Rathburg again when you're already here."

"Do you want me to meet her with you?"

"Hell, no. You don't see her, talk to her, come within a mile of her."

"Then what am I supposed to do while you're meeting her?" Was he kidding?

"This is New York City, doc. You can't kill a few hours here, you're already dead and don't know it."

6

"I usually drink only Diet Pepsi," Christy said as Julio set a bar-draft tumbler, half filled with reddish liquid, before her. "But today I'm making an exception."

They sat at Jack's usual table, everything pretty much the same as the last time they'd met here. Except she didn't seem as prissy.

Jack nodded. "I can understand that."

She frowned at the tumbler. "Not the typical presentation for a cosmopolitan."

"Ain't got no martini glasses," Julio said and walked away.

"Not the friendliest person, is he."

"He's okay."

She sipped and made a face. "Ugh! Awful. And the glass is dirty."

"Just smudged. This place doesn't get much call for cosmos. He probably had to go online to find out how to make one." Jack took a swig of his Yuengling draft. "Pours a mean glass of beer, though."

Christy took another sip, shuddered, then pushed it aside. She gave Jack a hard look.

"So, am I to understand that you don't know anything more?"

Jack knew some and suspected a hell of a lot, but couldn't tell her anything until he was sure. He eyed her blond hair. If he could snag a few strands of that, he'd be on his way to certainty.

"As I told you, I have someone under surveillance."

He'd used that—and a supposed need for more expense money—as an excuse to have Christy come to him instead of him going to her, saying he didn't want to stray too far.

"But I thought the idea was to have Bethlehem under surveillance."

"So one would think. But if I can link this guy to Bethlehem, I might be able to get your boy in enough trouble to take him out of the picture for a while."

Christy leaned forward. "This man you're watching—what is he? A drug dealer?"

"I don't want to say yet."

"Look, I've been paying you. I have a right to—" She paused, frowned. "Oh, I see. Because I blabbed to Dawn you think I've got a big mouth. Is that it?"

"In a word, yes."

"I suppose I deserved that." She grabbed the cosmo and pulled it back toward her. "I don't care how bad this swill is."

She took a deep sip and only winced a little this time.

Jack said, "But it's been costly. Paying for information has run up my expenses."

She gave him another long, hard look. "You wouldn't be running a scam on me, would you, Mister Robertson?"

Jack returned her stare. "We need mutual trust here, Christy. I can't do my best work if I think I'm being second-guessed at every turn."

"Okay, okay." She reached into her shoulder bag. "I don't mind paying if I'm getting results."

She pulled out an envelope and slid it across the table.

"Cash, as requested."

Jack nudged it aside with a knuckle. "Great."

He noted with satisfaction that she'd sealed it—by licking it, he hoped. Levy had said he could isolate DNA from her saliva.

But what if she'd used water to wet the glue? For insurance, Jack had worked out a backup plan with Julio.

He finished his beer and waved the empty mug. Julio saw him and nodded. Jack pointed to Christy's half-empty tumbler.

"Want another?"