Once in the kitchen, she put her down on one of the chairs. “Stay here, Katie. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Katie sat unmoving, her eyes still closed.

Poppy hurried back into the living room and fought the rising nausea as she approached the bodies. Blood everywhere. She couldn’t think of anyplace she totally wanted less to be, but she needed money. And more than that, she needed the keys to the truck.

Without really looking at him—she couldn’t bear to see his slack, white face—she sidled around to Paulie’s body and knelt just outside the wet stain that encircled him. She reached toward him and pulled back.

Poor Paulie. She couldn’t even look at him. How was she gonna touch him? But she had to. No time to kneel here wringing her hands. The cops were coming, dammit.

Steeling herself, and only looking out of the corner of her eye, she forced her hands to pat his pockets. The front ones were empty. Biting her lip, she rolled him half over—so heavy!—and found his wallet, but no truck keys.

The money in Paulie’s wallet wouldn’t take her far.

She glanced across him at Mac. He always had lots of cash. She got up and approached Mac from the other side. Easier to go through his pockets. Only his head was bloody. And she didn’t give a damn about Mac.

She yanked out his wallet and sighed with relief when she found it loaded with twenties and fifties, plus half a dozen Visa cards under as many names.

Okay. She and Katie had money. Now they needed wheels.

She spotted Mac’s keys on the floor near the gun. She reached for them, then thought better of it. She knew she wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, but she did know that the Jeep had been sitting out front when the shots were fired. Someone might have taken down the plate number. The truck would be better. Except for a couple of quick trips, it had been kept in the garage all the time.

She jumped up and ran into her bedroom and spotted the keys on the dresser. She snatched them and her little purse, and ran back toward the kitchen. Halfway there she dropped everything. A gun, a purse, two wallets, and keys—too much to carry. And she’d probably have to carry Katie too. No time to consolidate. She needed— She spotted Mac’s baseball jacket on the chair. She didn’t want anything that belonged to that slimeball but right now she couldn’t be choosey. She pulled it on and stuffed everything into the pockets. Then she scooped up Katie and headed for the garage.

“Come on, baby,” she cooed. “We’re getting the hell outta here.” As she opened the door between the kitchen and the garage, she heard Mac’s beeper go off again. Whoever wanted him was going to get old and gray waiting for a callback.

12

“You are sure you are calling the right numbers?” Carlos said.

Llosa nodded vigorously. “¡si!”

“I tried them myself,” Alien Gold said.

“Then why isn’t that hijo de puta answering? He has always called in before.”

“Maybe his beeper’s turned off,” Alien said, “or broken. Maybe the battery died.”

“But what about his voice mail?”

Gold shrugged. “Who knows how often he checks it?” Carlos was getting worried. MacLaglen should not be out of touch at such a critical time. It was very careless of him, and if Carlos knew one thing about MacLaglen, he was not careless. A bad feeling was growing in his gut: Something was wrong.

He pointed to Gold. “I want you to take Llosa and drive past his house.”

“Do we know where he lives?”

“I will give you the address. And I will give you another address, as well. But you must drive past and nothing more. Do not knock on the door, do not even stop the car. Comprende?”

“Sure.”

“Call me immediately if you see anything.” He watched them go, then turned on his back massager. His muscles were very tight.

Something was wrong… he could smell it.

13

The sun sat high and bright in a cloudless sky, but Poppy drove through a fog. She could barely feel her hands on the wheel. Like numb all over.

She pushed the panel truck to its limit along 95 North through Maryland and got about sixty miles an hour out of it. She wished she could go like a hundred, two hundred, but the last thing she needed now was to get pulled over by a cop. Sixty would do just fine.

She glanced over at Katie, belted into the passenger seat. She’d been a talkative little thing the past few days, but Poppy had heard barely a peep out of her since they’d left the house. Poor kid… she’d seen stuff today that no adult should see, let alone a six-year-old girl.

Soon as we get somewhere, Poppy thought, I’ll have to work on her. Bring her out. And figure out what to do with her.

Yeah. Soon as we get somewhere.

But where was she going? And what was she going to do when she got there? My next move, she thought. Good question. What do I do now? She wished Paulie was here. She wasn’t good at this sort of stuff, but Paulie’d know what to do.

The thought of Paulie started an ache deep in her chest. She remembered his funny laugh, his crooked smile, always trying to be a hard guy when he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. And now he was dead. She didn’t want to remember him like that, all soaked with blood, his face so pale, his dead eyes staring. She wanted to remember him in bed, doing wonderful things to her…

“Why are you crying?” Katie’s voice startled her. She wiped at her cheeks and her hand came away wet and stained with mascara.

Poppy sniffed and stifled the building sobs. Can’t go to pieces now. Got to hold together for Katie.

“Because I’m sad, Katie.” How did she say this? She didn’t want to start answering questions about lovers and death. “I… I lost a very dear friend today.” She felt something touch her. She looked down and saw Katie’s little hand patting her forearm.

“That’s okay. I’ll be your friend.” And that only made Poppy cry harder. I’m a basket case, she thought. I’ll kill us both if I don’t get off the road and pull myself together.

Somewhere north of Baltimore she spotted a GAS-FOOD-LODGING sign before the Edgewood exit.

She’d never heard of Edgewood and figured maybe that was good. Who’d look for her in Edgewood, Maryland?

She hit the Exit 77 ramp and the first place she came to was a Best Western. A Denny’s and a McDonald’s occupied the opposing corners.

Perfect.

She pulled into the parking lot, turned off the engine, and sat there, unable to move, feeling like she suddenly weighed a couple of tons. She felt so totally alone, so unsure. Was stopping here the right thing? What would Paulie do?

He’d probably say. Get off the road, park the truck around back, and hole up until you’ve made a plan. Don’t go running around without a plan.

Okay. She’d make a plan. But first she’d have to like figure out how to pay for the room. Cash or credit?

She opened Mac’s wallet and went through the credit cards. All those different names—James King, Eric Coral, Francis Black, Steven Garter, Jason Rattle, William Boa… stolen cards or real accounts with phony names?

Weird, she thought. All snake names. That couldn’t be a coincidence. And she remembered what Paulie used to say about him—“a real detail guy.” Not the type to get caught with hot plastic. Probably a good bet they were real accounts.

Good. She’d rotate them and save her cash. Mac sure as hell wouldn’t be reporting them stolen.

“How come your face is all black?” Katie said.

Poppy glanced in the rearview mirror. Her cheeks were a mess of black smears.

“That’s mascara. I kinda like to pile it on.”

“How come? And how come your lips are all black too?”

“Because I use black lipstick, silly.” Poppy wondered at all the questions, then realized that Katie had never seen her without a mask until this morning.