"Now and then," Shanahan said. "They don't last long in the Zone. Hookers ain't the only predators there. But this guy looked like one of the seamen off the ships. Which don't necessarily mean he
"Anything else we should know about him?"
"Yeah, he had them in stitches."
"What do you mean?"
"Kept telling them jokes."
Eileen looked at him.
"Yeah, I know what you're thinking," Shanahan said. "A stand-up comic with a knife."
"Anything else?"
"He wears eyeglasses," Alvarez said.
"One of the girls thinks he has a tattoo on his right hand. Near the thumb. She's the only one who mentioned it."
"What kind of tattoo?"
"She couldn't remember."
"How many girls did you talk to?"
"Four
"What time was this?" Annie asked. "When they saw him at the bar with the victims?"
"Varied. As early as nine, as late as two in the morning."
"Gonna be a long night," Annie said, and sighed.
Shanahan looked up at the clock.
"We better work out our strategy," he said. "So we can move when he does. Once he gets Eileen outside…"
He let the sentence trail.
The clock ticked into the silence of the squadroom.
"Do they know you down there in the Zone?" Eileen asked.
Shanahan looked at her.
"Do they?"
"Yes, but…"
"Then what the hell… ?"
"I'll be…"
"What good's a backup who…?"
"You won't recognize me, don't worry."
"No? What does the bartender say when you walk in? Hello, Detective Shanahan?"
"Six-to-five right this minute, you won't know me when I walk in," Shanahan said.
"Don't take the bet," Annie said.
"Will I know you if I have to holler?"
"You'll know me then. Because I'll be there."
"You're on," Eileen said. "But if I make you, I go straight home. I walk out of there and go straight home. Understood?"
"I'd do the same. But you won't know me."
"I hope not. I hope I lose the bet."
"You will," Annie promised.
"I didn't like your shooting him," the blonde at the wheel of the station wagon said. "That wasn't at all necessary, Alice."
Alice said nothing.
"You fire the guns in the air to scare them, to let them know you mean business, that's all. If that man you shot is dead, the rest of the night could be ruined for us."
Alice still said nothing.
"The beauty part of this," the blonde said, "is they never expect lightning to strike twice in the same night. Are you listening, kiddies?"
None of the kids said a word.
The digital dashboard clock read 7:04.
They figure you do a stickup, you go home and lay low for a while. That's the beauty part. We play our cards right tonight, We go home with forty grand easy. I mean, a Friday night? Your liquor stores'll be open, some of them, till midnight, people stocking up for the weekend. Plenty of gold in the registers, kids, there for the taking. No more shooting people, have you got that?"
The kids said nothing.
The eyes behind the masks darted, covering both sides of the avenue. The slits in the masks made all the eyes look Oriental, even the blue ones.
"Especially you, Alice. Do you hear me?"
Alice nodded stiffly.
"There she is," the blonde said, "number two," and began easing the station wagon in toward the curb.
The liquor store was brightly lighted.
The lettering on the plate-glass window read FAMOUS BRANDS WINE & WHISKEY.
"Have fun, kids," the blonde said.
The kids piled out of the car.
"Trick or treat, trick or treat!" they squealed at an old woman coming out of the liquor store.
The old woman giggled.
"How
Inside the store, the kids weren't so cute.
The owner had his back to them, reaching up for a half-gallon of Johnny Walker Red.
Alice shot him at once.
The thirty-year-old account executive standing in front of the counter screamed.
She shot him, too.
The kids cleaned out the cash register in less than twelve seconds. One of them took a fifth of Canadian Club from the shelves. Then they ran out of the store again, giggling and yelling, "Trick or treat, trick or treat!"
"Hello, Peaches?" the man on the telephone said.
"Yes?"
"I've been trying to reach you all day. My secretary left your number, but she didn't say which agency you're with."
"Agency?"
"Yes. This is Phil Hendricks at Camera Works. We're shooting some stuff next week, and my secretary thought you might be right for the job. How old are you, Peaches?"
"Forty-nine," she said without hesitation. Lying a little. Well, lying by eleven years, but who was counting?
"That's perfect," he said, "this is stuff for the Sears catalogue, a half-dozen mature women modeling housedresses. If you'll give me the name of your agency, I'll call them in the morning."
"I don't have an agency," Peaches said.
"You don't? Well, that's strange. I mean… well, how long have you been modeling?"
"I'm not a model," Peaches said.
"You're not? Then how'd my secretary… ?"
There was a long, puzzled silence on the line.
"This is Peaches Muldoon, isn't it?" he said.
"Yes," she said, "but I've never…"
"349-4040?"
"That's the number. But your secretary must've…"
