"And he didn't give her the certificate."

"If that's what it is. I guess what I'm saying, I don't know what else it could be." She let that hang for a moment before she said, "But I might know where it is."

She placed her glass on the bamboo table, picked up her pack of Virginia Slims and lit one.

Delsa said, "You gonna tell me about it?"

"In a bank deposit box."

"Where?"

"Chloe didn't say."

"It's in her name?"

Kelly shook her head. "Montez Taylor."

Delsa took a 120 from the pack. Kelly extended her lighter and flicked it.

"Montez gets the certificate out of the bank box," Delsa said, "and brings it to you."

She sipped her drink and poured a little more, giving herself time to come up with a reason. She said, "I think the old man wanted this to be a surprise for Chloe and told Montez to give her whatever's in the box."

Delsa said, "You just thought of that?"

Kelly said, "Somebody has to get it out of the box. I know Chloe didn't have a key. The old man's dead:"

"So is Chloe," Delsa said. "So now Montez gets the stock certificate-"

"Or whatever it is."

"And brings it to you. You cash it in or sell it, do whatever you do, acting as Chloe, signing her name, and you give him the money. Unless you think you can get away with not giving him the money. In that case he shoots you or has the two white motherfuckers do it." He paused, said, "I bet you could pick them out of a lineup," paused again and said, "and I bet these guys are deer hunters."

Kelly, listening, going along, said, "Why?"

"The way you described them. I see the two guys in the woods with rifles, red jackets and the baseball caps. The kind of guys who walk off the job during deer season. You said they looked like workingmen."

Kelly nodded.

So did Delsa saying, "That's how I see them. Tigers fans, or they just like the caps. They wear them straight, don't they, not turned around."

Kelly nodded again. This was good.

"They might not follow the Tigers, the way they've been playing, but they're definitely hockey fans and follow the Wings, 'cause the Wings know how to win. Till last year. I could go to Joe Louis tonight, Toronto's in town, and look for two guys in Tigers road caps with the orange D and pick 'em up."

"You're kidding."

"Yeah, but when I do nail those guys, the first thing I'll ask is if they were at the hockey game tonight. I'll let you know what they say."

"If you find them," Kelly said.

"The past year we've had a few homicides where a witness saw two white males, ordinary-looking, working-class guys. They're pros, but not very professional. Firearms is checking the Paradiso bullets, see if they can get a match on another homicide. A couple of white hit men? What bothers me, why you've been holding back, not telling me everything."

"Why do you think? I'm scared to death."

"Well, a little scared," Delsa said, "that's part of the bounce you're getting. I see you playing with Montez the same way you're playing with me. Take it slow and see what happens."

Kelly said, "Really, I've told you all I know."

"But you don't know Montez," Delsa said. "What do you think he's been doing the past ten years? He was making six figures as a kid, now he's running errands for an old man? Why would he put up with being a monkey in a suit all those years? He saw a payoff, a big one. He tells himself he's comfortable in the suit, ride it out. Is he in the will? No, I checked. The old man was gonna give him the house and changed his mind. Lloyd, the houseman, said Montez had a fit. But he's a hustler, and he's given the opportunity to handle Chloe's payoff, so he'll go for that one. He doesn't know he'll fuck it up. But even if he knew the odds were against him, he'd have to do it. It's his nature to hustle."

Kelly said, "But you're not sure."

"Yeah, I am, I'm sure. But the only thing you can be sure of, as long as Montez needs you, you're fairly safe."

"You mean," Kelly said, "Montez or the two motherfuckers won't try to shoot me?"

Delsa shook his head. "I didn't say that."

17

The phone rang at eleven and Kelly jumped, alone now in that cushy sofa. It was Montez downstairs in his car. He said, "You don't buzz me in, babe, I'm gonna bust all the windows in your car." His voice softened to say, "Girl, there things I need to discuss with you."

Montez walked into the loft, stopped, raised his face to the hip-hop coming out of the system and said, "Missy Elliott."

"'Get Ur Freak On,'" Kelly said.

"Shit. What else you got?"

"Da Brat, 'What Chu Like.' Lil' Kim being ultra nasty." Kelly moving now, shoulders back, hands in fists.

"Shit," Montez said.

"Gangsta Boo and some Dirty South."

"Yeah, shit, I thought you was only into collegiate riffs, doing the cheers there."

"Rah Digga," Kelly said.

"Rah Digga:?"

"Used to be with Bustah Rhymes."

"Yeah, I know her. I love those ladies, 'specially that dirty mouth Lil' Kim." He saw the two glasses on the coffee table, a little something still in the pitcher, and said, "You had company, huh?"

"Frank Delsa."

She watched Montez pretend to glance around the room.

"Not still here, is he?"

"Left hours ago."

"But he had a drink."

"You want one?"

"What'd he come for, hang a wire on you? Down in those nice cargo pants?"

She wore the cargoes with a black cashmere sweater. She said, "I thought you only wore suits."

"I've been set free," Montez said. He had on cargo pants, a T-shirt underneath a sweatshirt with a hood under his cashmere topcoat that he took off now and laid over a chair. He said, "We both in style, huh?" and pulled the legs of his pants out to each side. "Diesel, one-twenty-nine."

Kelly pulled the legs of her pants to each side and said, "Catherine Malandrino, six-seventy-five. But yours aren't bad."

Montez grinned and said shit and sank into the sofa that Kelly saw now as designer quicksand. She'd had two drinks and wouldn't mind another.

"What'd that man want to know this time?"

"Same old same old, why did I tell them I was Chloe." She poured the last of the alexanders into a glass and offered it to Montez. "It's my glass, not the cop's."

"I don't drink anything looks like medicine," Montez said. "He wanted to know why you told them you was Chloe. What'd you say?"

"I told him you threatened me."

"Wait now."

"Go along or I'd be shot in the head."

"You're playing with me."

"What do you think I told them? You made me. Why else would I do it? They're not stupid. But it's your word against mine so we're both off the hook."

Montez, sitting back staring at her, said, "What else you tell him?"

"He's already figured it out. Whatever Chloe was getting, you want me to get it for you."

Montez looked like he was thinking now as he stared.

Kelly said, "I don't know what it is, do I? I'll tell you what I think it is, a stock certificate. Am I close?"

"You tell him where it is?"

"In a bank deposit box, but I don't know which bank."

"You told him that?"

"It's your box, isn't it? What's the problem?"

She got up with her pitcher and her glass and walked toward the kitchen.

"You want a beer?"

"A Henessey, a great big one."

Kelly placed the pitcher on the counter and finished the last alexander. She'd make one more. She got out the cognac, a snifter glass. She looked at Montez across the room in the sofa.

"Why don't you get whatever it is and we'll take a look at it."

She watched Montez pull himself out of the sofa and come toward the counter. She said, "Look, he knows you've got something in a deposit box. So what? Go pick it up. Maybe he can trace your name to the bank and he's there when you open the box. So what? You've got something made out to Chloe. You didn't put it there, but you were instructed to pick it up after the old man's death. Okay, you're picking it up. If no one's watching, walk out. If Frank Delsa's standing there, hand him whatever it is. You don't get your payoff, but you don't go to prison, either. It's up to you how you work it," Kelly said, pouring Montez his great big one. "But it's always been up to you, Chops. Hasn't it?"