“Sign here, here, and here,” the salesman said, handing him a clipboard and a pen and starting to count. “My girl is getting the title now.”

Ten minutes later, Ryan was tooling up the avenue and turning into the parking lot in front of a new apartment building with a huge banner draped across it, advertising its contents. Ryan found the agent, dozing in a chair outside the front door, and demanded to be shown the two models, a one- and a two-bedroom. He liked them both. “Let me see your lease,” he said to the man.

The agent handed it to him, along with another printed sheet. “You need to fill out the application,” he said, waving a pen.

Ryan finished reading the lease, filled out the application, signed it, and handed it back.

“I’ll have to get this approved by my boss,” the agent said.

“Just tell him I’m a retired cop,” Ryan said, flashing his badge, “and he’ll approve it quick. There’s nothing a landlord likes better than a tenant with a badge. Now I’m going to go out to my car and get you cash for the security deposit and two months’ rent—make sure you tell him cash. And there’s five hundred in it for you if you get me the one-bedroom with the furniture left in it.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the man said, and walked into the kitchen to use his phone while Ryan went to the car, opened the trunk, and counted out the money. When he came back, the man counted it, handed him a lease to sign, and put two sets of keys on the kitchen counter. “Your parking space number in the garage is one-oh-one,” he said, “since you’re our first tenant.”

Ryan raked the keys off the counter. “I’m going to get my stuff, and I’ll be back in an hour. I assume there’s no problem with parking a motorcycle in some dead space near my car.”

“I wouldn’t think so.”

“Then you come with me and drive my car back. I’ll ride the bike. It’s only ten minutes away.”

“Sure thing.”

—

An hour later, Ryan sat back in his new, reclining chair and switched on the TV, but it didn’t come on. He got up and inspected it, found it to be a display dummy.

“Well, shit,” he said aloud. “Now I have to go TV shopping.” He went into the bedroom and pulled back the cover. “Sheets, too.”

—

While Ryan was at a mall, buying sheets and towels and a TV, two New Jersey state patrolmen were being let into his old apartment by the manager, their guns drawn, only to find it empty, except for a note to the manager telling him to go fuck himself.

Stone, Dino, and Viv sat in Dino’s study, finishing their sandwiches. Viv parked Dino out of reach of the phone, in case he was tempted to use it. Finally, she gave up the vigil and took their plates to the kitchen.

“What do you think Ryan is doing right now?” Dino asked.

“Well, if recent events are any indication, he’s probably thinking about killing you or me, or perhaps both of us.”

“That’s what I think he’s doing, too.”

Stone’s phone rang, and he answered it, twisting his body so Dino couldn’t snatch it out of his hand. He listened for a couple of minutes, asking a question or two, then hung up.

“That was Dan Harrigan, wasn’t it?” Dino asked.

“Gee, I don’t know how you guessed,” Stone replied.

“All right, tell me what he said.”

“First answer a question.”

“What?”

“Do you have a headache?”

Dino shrugged. “Sort of.”

Stone went to the door and yelled, “Viv, painkillers, please.”

“Now, why’d you have to do that? She was all settled down, and now you’ve got her going again.”

Viv came in with a pill and a glass of water. “Open,” she said, then waited. “I said, open!”

Dino opened and she popped the pill into his mouth and made him drink half a glass of water. “Let me see,” she said.

Dino opened his mouth.

“Lift your tongue.”

He lifted his tongue.

“All right,” she said. She left the glass of water and the pills on the table at his elbow and looked at her watch. “No more until six o’clock.” Then she left the room.

“All right, what did Harrigan say?”

“He said he got a call from somebody at the New Jersey DMV, saying that an E. P. Ryan registered a car and a motorcycle half an hour after they had told him they had nothing on the guy. He swapped his New York license for a Jersey one, too.”

“Did they get his address?”

“The New Jersey state cops did—they’re the ones who got the call first. They went there and found him moved out, except for a rude note to the building manager.”

“Out where?”

“They’ve no idea.”

“What the fuck are those guys doing out there?”

“Dino, they’re doing their jobs. After all, there are no charges against Ryan, he’s just wanted for questioning, and on no better evidence than your hunch.”

“What do you think Ryan is doing over there?”

“The evidence seems to tell us he’s moving to New Jersey.”

“Why would he do a thing like that?”

“Maybe he’s tired of New York traffic, maybe he has a girlfriend there, maybe he wants to be near Chris Christie, who knows? People move to Jersey every day.”

“There’s something sinister about this.”

“I think he must know that people are looking for him, and he’s just doing normal stuff.”

“But why would he give that address to the DMV and move out of his apartment the same day?”

“To make it harder for us to find him, maybe? Oh, Harrigan said one of his people checked, and Ryan had filed a police report saying his motorcycle had been stolen.”

“When?”

“The day he took a shot at our Brit friend.”

“What’s he doing over in Jersey?”

“Probably apartment hunting.”

“Why?”

“Because he no longer has a place to live. He’s probably out shopping for curtains as we speak.”

“Did Harrigan check to find out where Ryan’s pension checks are being sent?”

“Ryan doesn’t have a pension, he was fired, remember?”

“Then how’s he making a living?”

“He was working up until recently—maybe he saved his money. Maybe he’s found another job.”

“This is very weird.”

“Everything he’s doing is perfectly normal. When Harrigan finally finds him and hauls him in, he’ll point out during his questioning that he hasn’t behaved like a man on the run. He’s registered his car and bike, he’s gotten a new license. Next, he’ll be joining a church or a golf club.”

Ryan, at that moment, was looking at a Cuisinart. He cooked a bit, and he’d heard about the miraculous machine. Finally, he decided to postpone the purchase. Instead, he went back to the TV department and bought another set for his bedroom. All he had to do was plug them in; the sat system was already installed for the whole building.

—

Stone stayed for supper. He and Viv talked animatedly and tried to include Dino, to keep him off the subject of Ryan. It didn’t work.

“Stone,” he said, “you tell Harrigan to look for that shotgun when they find Ryan. If his guys can find that, then we have a case.”

“Dino, there are no ballistic marks on shotgun pellets, and he didn’t leave any shell casings. If they can find it, then all they can charge him with is possession of an illegal weapon, i.e., a shotgun with a barrel shorter than eighteen inches.”

“Well, that oughta get him, what, five to seven?”

“He’s an ex-cop with no criminal record, not even a DUI. If he’s dumb enough to hang on to the weapon, he’d get a suspended sentence, but the shotgun is probably at the bottom of a Jersey river.”