"I don't know." Little lead words. "Call Bewie at the services number. You've got my policy number.Ask her. Even though she's a woman, she knows more about the cop insurance stuff than I do."

"And that's all? Call Bewie. Don't you give a damn at all about your daughter?"

"You've already told me you don't want me to come over and talk to her. So what the hell can I do?"He couldn't contain his voice.

"Oh, forget it! I'm sorry I asked. I'll check with Bewie. I'm sorry you called at all."

"Yeah. Me, too." He slammed the receiver down on its hook. He looked over his shoulder and both Durand and Tiffany Marie looked hastily away. Durand said something to her, and she shook her head slightly, not a denial but a commiseration. Stepovich took a deep breath and turned and strode out past them. "Durand. Let's go," he said, and ignored Tiffany's timorous, "You take care now, Mike."

The afternoon passed. That was all he could say for it. Passed the same way time passes for a ball in a pinball machine. Hit the bumpers, light the lights,make the buzzers, but at the end of the play it falls through the flapper gates, and not a damn thing is really changed, not the ball nor the buzzers or lights. It's just time for a different ball to set them off. Neither he nor Durand spoke much, but the tension was different now, it was Durand keeping quiet because he didn't want to set Stepovich off, not keeping quiet to spite him. In an odd way Stepovich was grateful for that.

So when he had finished typing the nineteenth report up, he looked up at Durand and said, "I was out of line, earlier today."

"Yeah. You were. Well, let's forget it," said Durand, and in that moment they were as close to being real partners as they'd ever come.

Stepovich thought about that, driving home. Durand was doing better, no doubt about that. Sometimes, anyway. But a real partner would have noticed that Stepovich hadn't changed out of his uniform after shift, and wondered why. And a real partner would have told the kid that he was going to do a little after-hours rousting, and invited him along. Shut up, he told himself, and agreed with himself.

Raven had his fiddle.

And Owl a tambourine,

And I'd love to hear them play again

And tell them all I've seen.

"RAVEN, OWL, AND I"

"I think I know you, my friend."

"Know me? Well, yes and no, Daniel. We've met in another time and place, but your youngest brother knows me better."

"Yes, You're the Coachman, aren't you?"

"I am. Do you know where your older brother is?"

"No, where?"

"Hmm. I don't know either. I was hoping you did. Well, never mind. You must come with me."

"I know. I've been expecting you since yesterday."

"Of course."

"Where are we going?"

"Lakota, Ohio. Does it matter? Your youngest brother needs your help."

"I am ready to help him. I've been trying to find him since-"

"I know. We've all been waiting. The time of waiting is ended. You have your fiddle?"

"I have it."

"Then come. The coach awaits. It's a Greyhound."

SEVEN

The Wolf and the Spider,the Owl and the Chipmunks

Little Jimmy feeling blue

Doesn't know what he should do.

Little Timmy feeling bad

Doesn't know what makes him mad.

Little Timmy pushed around.

Doesn't know who makes the sound.

Little Timmy hears the voice

Knows he doesn't have a choice.

Little Timmy on the run

Goes to buy a little gun.

Little Timmy waits for dark

Goes to sneak around the park.

Little Timmy feeling mean

Goes to where he can't be seen.

Little Timmy off his head

Gonna shoot somebody dead.

I was dressed in yellow,

My brothers in green and red.

I don't know what we heard,

I only know we fled.

"RAVEN, OWL, AND I"

There was an itch in the back of the Gypsy's neck when he got to the park. He didn't know why, but he wanted his knife in his hand. He did not take it out; there was still some daylight left, and he knew the knife would make him conspicuous. For reasons he didn't understand, he kept to the edge of the park,then moved over to the fountain, keeping it between himself and the grove of oaks.

There were a pair of coaches on the street across from him, but something kept him from moving toward them. In the growing darkness and the snow, he couldn't see what either of the coachmen looked like.He strained his eyes, and the scene shifted and blurred,and there was suddenly a Wolf loping toward the coaches. He took a step backward as one of the coaches drove off, while the Wolf approached the other.

The Gypsy shuddered and hurried away.

This ain't the job I thought I signed up for,

But show me a way back out the door.

"STEPDOWN"

It was already getting dark in the park when he climbed out of the car. Chances were that the horse-drawn carriages were all turned in for the night. The evening was turning cool and grey and snow was falling, not at all the atmosphere for a carriage ride through the park. But no, there were two of them drawn up side by side beneath a street lamp that blossomed into light even as he looked at it. It had the eerie feel of a stage set, coming to life for his benefit.The horses were blanketed against the chill, and their drivers wore greatcoats buttoned to their chins and scarves swathed around their necks and faces. It could have been an engraving, a scene from a hundred years ago. Stepovich's stride faltered. If he climbed aboard one of those carriages and the driver whipped up the horses, would he be carried back to an older, simpler time? Then one of the drivers took out a pack of cigarettes and tamped one out and lit it with a disposable lighter. The illusion burned in that brief flaming,and Stepovich lifted his voice and called out, "Spider."

One of the men lifted an uncertain hand in greeting.Even gloved, the hand was thin and long-fingered, and the arm that stuck out of the coat sleeve was skinny.Like a spider he was, sitting in a dark blob up on the seat of his carriage, his long legs and arms dangling.Stepovich walked up to him slowly, giving him full time to assess his uniform. The other cabby tipped his hat,lifted his reins and clucked his team into motion. Good. The spoked wheels of his carriage grated on the pavement as his team drew him away, leaving Stepovich alone with Spider.

"Whatsamatter?" Spider demanded suspiciously as Stepovich drew near.

"Nothing. Nothing yet, anyway. I just want to ask you a few questions about the man who drove for you last Sunday."

"Oh, shit," Spider breathed fervently. "Not again,man. I tole you guys, none of it was my fault. Man's good with horses, I wanted to take a day off, have a little free time with my old lady. So I let the guy drive sometimes, we split the fares. How was I to know he'd get weird?"

"We just want to get clear what happened." Stepovich drew out his notebook and pen, tried to look as if he already knew it all. "So, one more time, if you don't mind. When did it start?"