"Later," the man typed into the screen. He pushed a button and the screen cleared once more. He returned to his seat behind the desk. "Anything else?" he asked.

"If the boy's picture…the one I want…was taken for sale…not by a pedophile…I couldn't find it?"

"Not in a million years," the man said. "The commercial pictures…they sell them to just anybody. Besides, those pictures are not true originals, you see? They make hundreds and hundreds of copies. The only way to find an original is if it was in a private collection."

"Say I didn't give a damn if the picture was an original, okay? If I showed you a picture of the boy, would you ask around…see if you could find the picture I'm looking for?"

"No," he said. "I would never betray the trust of my friends." He looked at the Mole for reassurance. The Mole looked back, giving nothing away.

"And you don't deal with any of the commercial outlets?"

"Certainly not," he sniffed.

This freak couldn't help me. "I understand," I said, getting up to leave.

The man looked at me levelly. "You may show yourselves out."

The Mole lumbered to his feet, standing in the doorway to make sure I went out first.

"One more thing," the man said to me. "I sincerely hope you learned something here. I hope you learned some tolerance for our reality. Some respect for our love. I trust we can find some basis for agreement."

I didn't move, willing my hands not to clench into fists.

"I am a believer," the man said, "and I am ready to die for my beliefs."

"There's our basis for agreement," I told him, and turned my back to follow the Mole down the stairs.

71

I STOPPPED at a pay phone off the Drive to call Strega-tell her I would need the boy for the day after tomorrow. Her line was busy. I lit a smoke, took a couple of drags, and dialed her number again. She picked up on the first ring.

"Yes," she breathed into the receiver, her voice as hard and seamless as her body.

"It's me," I said. "Thursday afternoon, okay? Like we agreed? Bring him to the parking lot across from the courthouse in Manhattan, where we met the first time."

"What time?"

"Four o'clock. If the lot's too crowded, I'll be standing in front of the Family Court. The dark-gray building on Lafayette. You know what I'm talking about?"

"Make sure he understands that it's okay to be with me."

"He'll be all right," she said, in a mechanical tone.

"See you then," I said, getting ready to put the receiver back in its cradle.

"That's for then," Strega said. "What about tonight?"

"It's too soon. I need time to set this up."

"What about me?"

"What about you?"

"I'm here by myself tonight. All alone with myself. You want to come over and talk to me?"

"I can't come over…I'm working."

"Maybe you just want to come," she whispered into the phone, playing with the last word. I could see the sneer on her painted lips, glowing in a dark room.

"Some other time," I told her.

"You can never be sure," said Strega. I heard the phone slam down at her end.

I headed back to the office, wondering where her sacred child was all the time.

72

I SPENT the next day taking care of business. American Express was threatening to sever the line of credit I maintain in several names unless they got some prompt payments. There's only one way to respond to such a legitimate request-I typed out some new applications, checking my list to make sure I didn't duplicate any of the old names. Then I placed some ads-my new mail-order company was offering the latest version of the Navy Seal Survival Knife for only twenty-five bucks. No CODs. My company doesn't take checks either- too many dishonest people out there. I checked my file of birth certificates for people who died within a year of their birth. I had some of them apply for Social Security numbers, others for driver's licenses. When I got back the paper, I'd move it into various productive activities-passports, disability payments, unemployment benefits. As long as you don't get too greedy, it goes on forever.

Finally, I checked my rent roll. I have a few apartments around the city-when a tenant in a rent-controlled building dies, the super calls me, money changes hands, and I'm the new tenant. Then I sublet the apartments to yuppies happy to pay several times the base rent, positive they're beating the system. Michelle works the phones for me. I split the rent each month with the super and everybody's happy. Sooner or later the landlord finds out what's going down and moves to evict the tenant. Then the yuppies are on their own. I don't collect any more rent from them. I don't return their security deposits either.

I took Pansy down to the piers on the Hudson, working her off-leash obedience to keep her tuned. Then I took her with me to Pop's poolroom, letting her watch in baleful disapproval as I dropped fifty bucks at the table in the back. The one right under the "No Gambling" sign.

Killing time. It's a lot easier when you're not in a cell.

73

AT FOUR o'clock the next afternoon, I parked the Lincoln in the courthouse lot. Immaculata was next to me on the front seat, Max lying down in the back, hands clasped behind his head, staring at nothing.

"You want to go over it one more time?" I asked Mac.

"It's not necessary, Burke. I know what you want. But it's like I told you-disclosures often come slowly. I can't promise you the child will tell me everything on a first interview."

"How long does it take?"

"It depends on the child…and the extent of the trauma. Some children never tell the whole thing."

"Can't you put some pressure on him?"

Mac's eyes narrowed. "Of course I could do that. But I won't. That's not the way we work. This first interview-the one where we validate that the child has been sexually abused-it's not just to gain information- it's part of a process. The real goal is to treat the child."

"Yeah, okay," I said, lighting a cigarette.

"That is what we agreed," Mac said, tapping her long nails on the dash. She wasn't going to discuss it anymore.

"You told Max what he has to do?" I asked her.

Immaculata smiled. "He knew," she said.

The courthouse parking lot doesn't discriminate. Porsches stood next to Chevys-a limo took two spaces. So did a gypsy cab.

A Spanish guy walked by my open window. "Smoke?" he asked, looking past me. I didn't reply and he moved on, working the parking lot. If you had the cash, you could buy just about anything around the courthouse.

Immaculata and I got out of the Lincoln and walked over to the Family Court. A steady stream of humans walked out of the revolving doors-a fat Puerto Rican woman with tired eyes came out with a kid who looked about twelve years old, sporting a gang jacket and a black beret on his head. "You hear what the judge told you?" she said. "Fuck the judge," the boy replied, neatly dodging her feeble attempt to slap him, smiling a kid's smile. A guy dressed in a phone-company uniform was pulling at his lawyer's arm, mumbling something about "another goddamned adjournment." The lawyer shrugged. Another guy stormed out the front, a woman trailing him by a couple of feet, tentatively reaching out to touch his arm. He was slamming a clenched fist in his palm over and over, looking down.

I was watching for Strega's little BMW, so I didn't pay any attention to the beige Mercedes cruising back and forth through the parking lot until I heard the door slam. She was standing across the street, a black kerchief on her head, wearing a full-length black coat. She looked about sixteen years old. Her arms were extended to each side, a child holding each hand. A boy and a girl. She bent to say something to the little girl. The child waved merrily at me and they started to cross.