"Hi, baby," Michelle said to the kid.

"Hello," Terry said, not a trace of fear in his voice for the first time that night. I don't know how Michelle does it, and I'll never learn.

By the time the Lincoln was halfway to my part of town, they were whispering together in the back seat like the Prof and I weren't there.

54

I NEEDED to set things up for later on. Michelle was the only babysitter I could trust. Someone had to watch the boy, and I didn't want him to see my office or anything else. I tooled down to the pier we always use for private conversations, off the Hudson just before the Battery Tunnel turns Manhattan into Brooklyn. I pulled over, cut the engine. A working girl detached herself from a small group and started to saunter over to the Lincoln. She stopped in her tracks when the Prof and I got out. Whatever we were, we weren't the customers she wanted.

"Be right back," I said to Michelle, motioning for the Prof to follow me.

I lit a smoke, handed the pack to the Prof, and looked at the dark water, thinking of the dark water in Flushing Meadow Park. Thinking of Strega. I was getting off the track.

"What's going down?" the Prof wanted to know.

"I'm looking for a picture. Kiddie porn. My client is concerned that a picture was taken of a certain kid. She wants it back."

"Why don't you just look for a fish out there?" he said, pointing at the silent Hudson.

"I know it's odds-against, Prof. I said I'd try, okay?"

"Where do I come in?"

"I hit the Square, asking around. The kid in the back seat with Michelle? He's hustling. I spoke to his pimp, told him I wanted to buy some pictures. He's going to meet me by the big ships around midnight. I'm supposed to bring a grand in cash, buy four pictures."

"Of who?"

"Who the fuck knows. The freak probably has some pictures. If he figures me for a customer, I'll buy the pictures, ask him for some more. Tell him what I'm looking for."

"And if he figures you for a tourist?" the Prof asked.

"That's where you come in. The Lincoln has one of those power trunk releases, okay? Michelle holds the kid in the front seat, keeps her head down. I climb out, she slides over where I was sitting. Any trouble-she pops the trunk and you come out. I got a scattergun you can use.

"I ain't dusting nobody, Burke," he said, trying to convince himself.

"I didn't say you had to take him out, Prof. Just keep me from getting stomped on, okay? Show him the piece, maybe break a cap in the airthat's all."

The Prof sucked cigarette smoke into his chest. "You going to play this one square.

"If he's got real pictures, I'll buy and I'll ask him some questions. But if he moves on me and you have to brace him, we'll see what's he got on him. Okay?"

"What if he has backup?"

"He's driving a 'vette. Easy to check. And Michelle will be keeping the peek from the car."

"It sounds like a job for Max," he said.

"It's a job for us, Prof. You in or out?"

"I may talk some jive, but I never took a dive," he snapped, insulted.

I patted him on the back. "We'll get Michelle to drop us off near my office. Get the stuff we need, hang out a bit. Okay?"

"Right on," said the little black man, "but if the hound is going to be around…"

"Pansy's cool, Prof. You just have to get to know her."

He looked dubious, but he wasn't arguing. We walked back to the Lincoln -Michelle and the kid were still rapping away in the back.

"Michelle, how about you drop me and the Prof off? Take the car and meet us back around eleven?"

"Terry and I need to get something to eat anyway," she said. "Give me some money.

I handed her two fifties. The way Michelle ate she probably wouldn't bring back any change.

I drove to within a couple of blocks of the office and pulled over to the curb. Michelle climbed out to stand next to me, leaving the Prof inside the car with the boy.

"Walk a bit with me," I told her. She took my arm and we strolled out of earshot.

"The kid's hustling…" I began.

"I know," she snapped. "We talked."

"I'm supposed to bring him back around midnight. Do a deal with his pimp. Cash for merchandise. The pimp might get stupid-the Prof's going to ride shotgun in the trunk. You handle the kid-keep him with you for a couple of hours till you pick us up. Okay?"

"Burke," she hissed, her eyes flaming, "you're not giving that boy back to a pimp!"

"Michelle, I'm not giving him back to anyone, okay? No matter what goes down tonight, you leave with the kid. Take him to the cops. Let him find his home."

"The only cop I'm dealing with is McGowan," she said. McGowan is a detective with the Runaway Squad. By me, most cops would have to step up in class to be garbage, but McGowan plays it fair. You could drop off a kid with him and he'd never put the deliveryman in his report.

"Any way you want, babe. It's up to you. Just make sure the little bastard doesn't take off while he's with you. He's the reason I'm sure the pimp is going to show."

"Any money in this?" she wanted to know.

"If the pimp plays it square, I'm going to pay him and that's all. If he gets stupid, we'll take what he has. Split it three ways. Deal?"

"You think I was standing under that streetlight because I lost something, honey?"

I threw up my hands in surrender, reaching for my shirt pocket.

"Honey, I have told you time and time again not to carry cash in your shirt pocket-only dice players do that. It's bad enough you dress like a bum."

"Hey!" I said. "This is a good suit."

"Burke, it was a good suit. It's yesterday's news, darling. Like your haircut," she said, a smile playing with her painted lips.

"We can't all be on the cutting edge of fashion, Michelle."

"Don't I know it," she retorted, taking the wad of bills and counting off a few fifties for herself. If I ever paid taxes, Michelle would be one hell of a deduction. She reached up to kiss me on the cheek. "Thanks, baby. That's one step closer to Denmark for me."

"Sure," I said. I'd heard it before.

Michelle climbed behind the wheel of the Lincoln as the Prof got out. She turned and said something to the boy. He scrambled over the back seat to sit next to her. She was saying something to him as they pulled away-probably telling him to keep his feet off the upholstery.

55

WHEN THE Lincoln wheeled around the corner, I was waiting. The kid was sitting next to Michelle on the front seat, eating an ice-cream cone. I climbed in and Michelle slid over, changing places with the kid so he was between us. I found the release lever, popped the trunk, and waited for traffic to pass.

As soon as it got quiet, I climbed out like I was getting something out of the trunk. "Okay," I hissed into the darkness. The Prof came out, dressed in one of those padded suits guys wear for working in meat lockers. He was carrying his own coat in one hand, the shotgun wrapped inside.

The light went on inside the trunk when I lifted it up. I took a roll of quarters out of my pocket and put it against the light. When I smacked it with the flat of my hand, the light went out. It wouldn't come on again.

The Prof checked out the interior-it was clean and new, covered with carpet. Even the spare tire was buried under the flooring. "I lived in worse places," he said, and climbed in without another word.

I worked my way back to the West Side Highway. Michelle sat with her arm around the boy, listening to me explain the deal.

"The kid sits straight up in the seat, okay? You lay down, below the windshield. When I get out, you slide over and put your hand on this release. You hear me raise my voice for any reasonno matter what I'm saying…you pop the lever."