You rarely see a smiling mug shot. Zina was not pretty, but she had a great wide smile, full lips, and a complex-ion that wasn't suffocated by makeup. Her nose was big and slightly off center, but it made you focus on those immense dark eyes. Oddly enough, her hair looked clean and shiny. A neat trick for someone who supposedly lived under the hood of a car.

Eddie took his time studying each woman who might possibly be Zina. Most were too fat, too thin, or too Barbie. The nearest drinker at the bar was a big-boned woman with a GI buzz cut. She was wearing a sleeveless denim vest. On her right biceps was a large tattoo of a leopard holding a banner in its teeth. He couldn't read the words on the banner. His eyes kept drifting back to the redhead on the dance floor as the jukebox played a slow country-and-western song. The couple swayed, barely moving. The C &W surprised Eddie. He didn't think this would be a Nashville crowd.

The bartender sat on a cooler, her legs tucked up under her, as she talked to a small blonde at the bar. Eddie waited, sipping his club soda. He wanted them to get used to him for a few minutes. Let them realize he wasn't a self-loathing drunk out searching for a beating, or a lesbo watcher looking to get his jollies. The bartender and the blonde were facing in his direction but were looking at the TV above his head. He could see in the mirror's reflection that they were watching a Law and Order rerun. With the sound off, they read the closed captions.

"Bartender," Eddie finally said. He knew better than to refer to her as miss, or think of her as a barmaid.

She said something out of the side of her mouth, which got a few laughs, then walked down.

"Do you know this woman?" he asked, showing her the picture of Zina. He held his thumb partially over the B number under her chin, but still letting her see it.

"I figured you gotta be a cop," she said. "Ballsy attitude and all. My friend says it's not balls, that it's something kinkier, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."

She took a quick look at the photo, not long enough to tell anything. Her answer was prepared and practiced.

"Never saw her before."

"Look again," he said. "She comes in here all the time."

"I told you: I don't know her."

"Sure you do. Her name is Zina Rabinovich."

"If you know who she is, why the hell you asking me?"

"I need to find her."

"Sorry, can't help you."

"Then I'll ask your friends," he said, starting to get off the stool.

"Wait, wait, wait," she said. "What's so important that you need to find her tonight?"

"Because a friend of hers just got arrested. A retarded guy named Freddie Dolgev. He lives across the hall from her. He wanted me to find her."

"If you know where she lives, go there."

"I did. She's not home."

"Okay, just show me some identification before I let you go around interrogating my customers."

Eddie took out the small leather case that contained the replica of his old detective shield. The tattered case looked like it had been around the block. He'd carried it since he'd first made detective. The emblem and numbers had embedded in the leather. It couldn't have looked more authentic. His ID card was another matter. Retired cops got to keep their ID; it was merely stamped "Retired." No such perk if you resigned. Before turning in his ID on his last day as a cop, he'd color-copied and laminated it. It looked official-enough, sitting behind the yellowed plastic sleeve in the case.

"Give me a minute," the bartender said.

Her leather pants squeaked as she went back to the other end to confer with the small blonde. The big bare-armed woman, muttering to herself, slapped the bar hard with the palm of her hand; then she stood up and walked out. As she turned to throw an ugly glare at Eddie, he saw that the tattooed banner read death before dishonor. A minute later, the small blonde pulled up the stool next to him. She wore a navy blazer over faded jeans and could have been a suburban soccer mom.

"I never saw you around here before," she said after she asked to see his identification.

"I'm on special assignment."

"Where do you normally work?"

"The Four-eight in the Bronx."

"You know Kevin Moroney?"

Eddie did know Kevin Moroney. But he also knew the blonde was a cop and that she had his number.

"It was the ID, right?" Eddie said.

"The whole department changed years ago. We use an upright card now, and it's red, white, and blue. Only retired cops carry these old maroon cards."

"I should get it changed."

"If you're going to pull this stunt again, you'd better. There's one thing I want you to remember: Don't ever pull this shit in here again or I'm going to lock your ass up. You're not an active cop. You can't play like you're one. That's impersonating. It's a crime. Good try, but you can't do this. We understand each other?"

"Yeah," Eddie said. "But how about Zina?"

"Don't worry about Zina. Someone will get word to her that Freddie is jammed up. Is he in the Six-oh?"

The couple on the dance floor clung together during another slow tune, a twangy female vocalist who had it bad and that ain't good. All other eyes were focused on him.

"Listen," Eddie said, leaning over so he could speak softly. "You seem like a nice young woman. So I have a little advice for you. Don't get on the wrong side of this. If Zina has anything to do with kidnapping my daughter, you don't want to come out of this as a lesbian cop who obstructed justice."

The little blonde sat back and gave him a look that said, Okay, now I've got it. "I know who you are," she said, nodding her head. "I heard the story. Tough thing, tough goddamn thing. I want you to know that if Zina had anything to do with it, I'll be the first one to put cuffs on her. Okay? We see eye-to-eye on that, right? Like I said, I feel bad for what happened. Hurting your family is bullshit, but that doesn't give you the right to come in here and threaten me. All that does is piss me off."

"I wish all I felt now was pissed-off," Eddie said.

"Get the fuck out of here," she said. "Before we have to call an ambulance."

In the quiet, the regulars picked up on the tension in the blonde's voice. Eddie nodded toward her and scooped all but a buck off the bar. Nothing to be gained in forcing the issue. On the way out, he stopped to read the posted softball schedule. The Brooklyn Adult Women's Fast-Pitch Softball League. Six teams total, a few in Queens. Alice B's played Dietrich's for the season opener on May 1. Eddie snatched the schedule off the wall. It gave him five more places to look. One called Lady's was close by, in Bay Ridge, ten minutes away. He had enough time before closing to hit a few of them.

A damp, cold Coney Island chill hung in the night air. The streets were empty, but as soon as he took three steps from the bar, he could see something was wrong. The entire driver's side of his Olds tilted toward the road. He had a flat tire and no spare. There would be no tour of lesbian bars tonight. Then as he got closer… double that problem. Two flats. Both tires had been slashed.

Sunday night was always a bitch in Brooklyn. Auto mechanics in the borough were never informed that Brooklyn was part of a town called "the city that never sleeps." Just try to get a tire fixed on Sunday night. Eddie took both tires off, then eventually found an off-duty cab-driver willing to make two hundred bucks. He tossed the tires in the trunk and the driver took him to the spot his garage used. He bought two retreads from Northey's Discount Tire, got them mounted, and paid another two hundred for the ride back.

By the time he got there, a hint of a sunrise had begun to lighten the sky. Srillwell Avenue was so quiet, he could hear the ocean churning. A few early birds hustled toward the el station. Eddie jacked up the front end of the Olds and slid the wheel on, only hand-tightening the lugs. Then he went to the back wheel. He heard another car nearby, the engine idling roughly. Looking in his side-view mirror, he saw a dark blue muscle car, either a Camaro or a Firebird, parked in front of the coffee shop across from Nathan's. The car vibrated from a badly tuned engine. The glass was tinted black. A stream of cigarette smoke rose from the crack above the window on the driver's side. Eddie tightened the lug nuts on the back wheel. He didn't bother with the hubcap; he tossed it in the trunk for now. Then he went back to the front wheel.