"I had one just like it-well, it was the same idea, but I had to get rid of it."

"You did?"

"It smelled."

"Having it cleaned didn't help, huh?"

She said no. She asked him, "What do you do for a living, Gary?" and saw his eyes change, become almost solemn.

He said, "How far do we go with this?"

It stopped her, threw her off balance. Karen said, "Not yet.

Don't say anything yet. Okay?"

He said, "I don't think it works if we're somebody else. You know what I mean? Gary and Celeste, Jesus, what do they know about anything?"

She knew he was right, but had to take a moment before saying, "If we're not someone else then we're ourselves. But don't ask me where we're going with it or how it ends, okay?

Because I haven't a fucking clue. I've never played this before."

The way he said, "It's not a game," she knew he meant it.

"Well, does it make sense to you?"

He said, "It doesn't have to, it's something that happens. It's like seeing a person you never saw before-you could be passing on the street-and you look at each other…"

Karen was nodding.

"You make eye contact without meaning to."

"And for a few moments," Foley said, "there's a kind of recognition."

You look at each other and you know something."

"That no one else knows," Karen said.

"You see it in their eyes."

"And the next moment the person's gone," Foley said, "and it's too late to do anything about it, but you remember it because it was right there and you let it go, and you think, What if I had stopped and said something? It might happen only a few times in your life."

"Or once," Karen said.

"Why don't we get out of here."

"Where do you want to go?"

Karen looked up. The advertising guys were getting ready to leave, dropping napkins, pushing their chairs back, taking forever. Philip looked over, and then Andy. Andy waved. Karen watched them leave the table finally and make their way out.

It was quiet. She looked at Foley in the slim-cut navy-blue suit, his white shirt with its button-down collar, his burgundy and blue rep tie-the conservative business executive-looked in his eyes and said,

"Let's go to my place."

"Your room?"

"My suite. I showed my credentials and they upgraded me."

"You must do pretty well, in your business."

"I don't know, Jack. The way things are going I may be looking for work."

NINETEEN

Here was Maurice, White Boy Bob, Kenneth and the new one, Glenn, in the living room getting ready, guns and boxes of bullets on the coffee table. Moselle stood watching them from the foyer.

She got to meet this Glenn, but didn't mention anybody looking for him.

When he came, Maurice told him he was late and Glenn said, "Oh, is that right?" and told Maurice to look out the fucking window he'd know why.

Glenn saying his hands ached from gripping the fucking wheel, hanging on, man, trying to stay in the fucking tracks. A car'd go by and all the slop and shit from the road would hit the windshield. Maurice saying, "You suppose to be the ace driver, you pass the cars, they don't pass you." Glenn saying, "Oh, is that right?" Snippy, Moselle thought, for a man.

He told how he came up behind a salt truck and got blasted with it, like shrapnel hitting the car. He told how a woman pulled out in front of him and when he braked did a three-sixty, spun all the way around.

He said you couldn't see anything and said driving in that ice and snow was fucking work, man, it wore you out.

"You done?" Maurice said.

"If you done we can get on with business."

"I'm not driving," Glenn said, "so forget it."

"I hope to tell you you not driving," Maurice said, and looked over.

"Moselle, you want something?"

"My grocery money."

"That's what we going to get. Put our mittens on, our masks, case we want to do some siding… There. I look like a Ninja?"

"You going to see Curtis, aren't you?"

"We be back, oh, 'bout two hours," Maurice said.

"Where's my little Tuffy dog? I want to kiss her good-bye."

"You going to see Curtis," Moselle said.

Maurice wigged hearing about his dog and Glenn thought for a minute he'd call off the gig, Jesus, ranting and raving. They got in the van Kenneth had picked up and Maurice sat in front with him, saying once he found out who it was ran over little Tuffy that man's ass was his. He'd set fire to the man's house with the man in it. Kenneth was wired on crystal meth, talkative, asking Maurice how he was going to find the man in the first place.

Maurice said don't worry, he'd find him, but never said how. He punched the dashboard with his fist a few times keeping himself primed, Glenn believed, for whatever was coming up. Kenneth would brake hard and as the van slid sideways would go "Yeaaaaah," and lift his hands from the wheel. Maurice didn't say anything to him until a couple of miles down Woodward Avenue-the streetlights making it weird looking with the snow coming down-they turned on to Boston Boulevard, a street of homes bigger than Maurice's, the van sideswiped a parked car, bounced off it, and Maurice said, "What's wrong with you?" That's all, until they came to the house, a big dark place showing only a few lights, dim ones, and Maurice said, "Leave it on the street. We don't want to come out find we stuck." Kenneth said, "We shoveling away, here come the police," sounding as if he thought that would be pretty funny.

Jesus, these guys. Maurice said, "We ready? Check your weapons."

Glenn had a little snub-nosed.38 they'd given him.

Kenneth had a shotgun. White Boy Bob had some kind of pistol and a fire ax. Maurice had a.45 because Huey P. Newton had said one time,

"An Army.45 will stop all jive," and Maurice had been told about Huey P. and the Black Panthers when he was a kid. He said to Glenn, "You and Kenneth gonna come with me around back. White Boy goes in the front. We hear him busting in, we go in." Looking at the house he said, "Man, this is when to do it. They don't even see you coming."

Glenn said, "How many are they?"

"The man, Frankie, his wife Inez and a nigga works for them name Cedric," Maurice said. "

"Less they have company, huh?"

As soon as they were out of the van they moved in a hurry, went past the side of the house single file, Kenneth making a path through the deep snow squeaking under their tennis shoes, all three pulling their ski masks down as they reached the back of the house. Right away they heard glass breaking, White Boy Bob smashing his way into the house, sounding like he was tearing it apart with his fire ax. They heard his voice, far away but clear, yell, "Police! Don't move!" Maurice said,

"Go ahead," and Kenneth used the butt end of the shotgun to bust a pane in the French door, reached through to unlock it and Glenn followed them into the house and around a dining room table in the dark as a door swung in and Glenn saw a black guy with a gun, a shotgun, lights on in the kitchen behind him. They surprised him being so close. He tried to get back in the kitchen, but Maurice put the.45 in his face and told Glenn to take his shotgun.

Maurice said, "Cedric, my man. You thought I forgot about you, huh?"

He pulled Cedric out of the doorway to walk in front of them to the living room, telling Glenn, "This the nigga ratted me out the time I went down." Cedric said something over his shoulder Glenn didn't hear and Maurice whacked him across the head with the.45, like slapping him with the barrel. Cedric hunched his shoulders and put his hand up to his head.

White Boy was in the living room turning a lamp on, cold air coming in from a big front window smashed to pieces. He said, "They went upstairs." Maurice said, "White Boy, take Cedric here and put him in front of you." They went up a stairway that turned once to reach the second floor and now they were in a wide hallway of doors, all closed.