“Usually with a gift,” Ida said, cringing at the thought of some of the grisly trophies Boomerang had left on the kitchen floor as offerings. Everything from dead sparrows to rat heads. The more horrific the better. Boomerang would reenter the way he’d left, through the kitchen window, always open a crack to the fire escape, and deposit his offering on the throw rug. Then he’d be demonstrably proud. Cats seemed to think that way. At least cats like Boomerang.

“He’s probably out doing it to the lady cats in the neighborhood,” Craig said.

“Craig!” Ida warned.

Craig smiled. Maybe he and Boomerang weren’t all that different from each other.

“Trash pickup happen yet?” he asked.

Ida gave him a stern look. They weren’t supposed to talk about this in front of Eloise. Craig’s brother Jack was going to make the switch of the Hoffermuth bracelet for cash to one of the sanitation workers. Over $240,000. A bargain for the fence, Willard Ord, considering he would remove the bracelet’s jewels and sell them separately for more than twice that much. A steal for Willard. Except for the fact that Jack was going to give Ord’s emissary the remaining duplicate paste bracelet patterned on the Sotheby’s catalog illustration.

Jack was supposed to call brother Craig on his cell phone when the switch was completed.

Only he hadn’t called.

Craig stood up from the sofa. “Goin’ out for a smoke.”

“Don’t let anyone see you,” Ida said. “The mayor’s given the cops orders to shoot smokers to kill.”

“Funny, hah, hah,” Craig said. He picked up Alexis Hoffermuth’s purse and folded a sheet of newspaper over it. “Might as well drop this in a mail box.”

“Not one too close. And bring that damned cat in if you see him.”

“He’s not a damned cat,” Eloise said.

Ida pulled a face. “No, honey, he’s not. I’m sorry I said that.”

“Anyway, he won’t go far. And nobody’ll think he’s a stray, ’cause I put his collar on him.”

Craig looked at Eloise. “Collar?”

“That pretty collar with the jewels in it you brought for him,” Eloise said. “The one you left on the table. I put it on him and fastened the clasp. It fits perfect.” She grinned. “Makes him an even handsomer cat.”

Craig and Ida stared at her, comprehending but not wanting to believe, stunned.

“Good Christ!” Craig said. He walked in a tight circle, one foot staying in the same place.

“You put the bracelet on Boomerang?” Ida asked.

“Collar,” Eloise corrected.

Craig doubled his fist.

“Eloise, go to your room!” Ida said.

Aware that something horrible was going on, and somehow she was the root of it, Eloise obeyed without argument.

“I wasn’t going to hit her,” Craig said.

“We knew that, but she didn’t.”

Craig sighed. “Yeah . . .” He stared helplessly at Ida. “What are we gonna do?”

“Cats don’t like playing dress up. Especially tomcats. But if Boomerang didn’t work the col—bracelet off right away, it probably doesn’t bother him and he’ll leave it alone. When he comes home, he should still be wearing it.”

“So we do nothing?”

“Seems the thing to do.”

“You mean not to do.”

Ida looked slightly confused. Still in character from earlier that day.

Craig strode toward the door. “I need a cigarette.”

Ida would have gone with him; she could use a cigarette herself. Only there was Eloise. Ida didn’t see herself as the kind of mother who’d leave her guilt-stricken kid alone for a cigarette. “Don’t light up till you get outside,” she said to Craig. They’d gotten the landlord’s notice that smoking was no longer allowed in the building.

“I’m not going out only for a smoke,” Craig said. “Jack was supposed to switch the other fake bracelet for cash with the sanitation guy, then call me. I wanna find out why he never called.”

Ida told Craig good-bye and counted to ten. She knew she wasn’t as ditzy as the role she played. And she understood what had to be done in this situation even if Craig didn’t. He’d argue with her, and forbid her to do it. That was why it had to be done before he had a chance to disapprove.

The cat, the bracelet, simply had to be recovered. Craig wouldn’t understand that there were times when your enemies could become your best friends.

Ida picked up the phone and called the police.

Craig Clairmont walked over to Amsterdam through a warm May mist before dropping the purse in a mailbox. Then he retraced his steps until he was half a block away from the passageway where the switch was supposed to have taken place.

Jack was almost invisible in the dark. Craig had to squint and stare hard to see his brother. Jack was down at the far end of the passageway, sitting on the ground as if he might be exhausted, his back propped awkwardly against the brick wall.

Jack saw Craig, but dimly. He raised his right hand, tried to crook a finger to summon Craig.

Aw, Jesus!

But Craig saw the movement and jogged toward him, fearing the worst.

When he got near his brother, Craig saw all the blood.

Jack had so much to tell Craig. Things Craig had to know.

He struggled to speak but couldn’t translate thoughts into words.

Craig said something to him he didn’t understand.

The light was fading.

Jack was barely alive. He rolled his eyes toward his brother Craig. His face was damp from the mist, his breathing ragged.

“What the hell happened?” Craig asked, bending down next to Jack. He saw a lot of blood, but no injuries, though Craig was holding his stomach with both hands.

“Double-cross,” Jack said. “Bastard took the bracelet, then instead of giving me the money he started beating on me. I fought back and he hopped in the truck and it started to pull away. I grabbed onto it and that big trash crusher thing came down. My hand got caught in the machinery and it cut off my finger.” Jack hadn’t been gripping his stomach; he’d been clutching one hand with the other and keeping them both in close to his body. He held up the mutilated hand. “Cut the damned thing right off, Look at this, Craig! For God’s sake look!”

Craig looked and felt his stomach lurch.

Jack whimpered. “You gotta get me to a hospital.”

Craig didn’t like this at all. Things would get even more dangerous when the thugs who stole the bracelet realized it was another fake, a paste duplicate, like the one he’d slipped into the Hoffermuth bitch’s purse before dropping it in a mailbox.

“What’re we gonna do?” Jack asked his older brother, who usually had all the answers.

Craig grinned to lend Jack hope and courage. “We’re gonna call the police. Get you an ambulance.”

When Jack didn’t answer, Craig was surprised.

He looked down and saw that his brother was dead. He hadn’t noticed the mass of blood around Jack’s chest and stomach.

“Christ, Jack! Somebody stabbed you in the heart!”

Of course, Jack still didn’t answer.

Craig stood over his brother, emotions rushing through him, over him, anger, grief, fear, panic.

But the panic, and then everything else, passed. Reality had to be faced. Manipulated.

Craig knew he was something Jack never really was—a survivor.

He also knew that now wasn’t a good time to bring in the police. For any reason.

There wouldn’t be another trash pickup for several days. Probably nobody would wander down this shadowed passageway. Nobody who’d contact the police, anyway, if they came across a dead body.

Still, Craig knew that to feel safe for even a short length of time, he’d have to at least partially conceal the body.

Down near the far end of the alley a Dumpster squatted like a tank without treads. They didn’t empty those Dumpsters very often. And when they did empty this one, there was always the chance Jack wouldn’t be noticed.