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apartments, even vicariously.” “You can't ogle vicariously, I think. Sounds wrong. Anyway, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever—” “Or maybe I'm in on it, maybe I'm the killer, have you considered that?” “Now you're making fun of me.” “Why? If you can solve crimes on the other side of the barrier why can't I commit them?” The dealer laughed, hyena-like. “Now seriously,” he continued, “if you want to exchange for one without a murder I'll give you a credit toward the next, half what you paid—” “No thanks. I'll hold on to it.” Discouraged, hungry, but he couldn't really bother being angry. What help did he expect from the dealer anyway? This was a larger matter, above the head of a mere middleman. “Good luck, Sherlock,” the dealer was saying. “Spread word freely, by the way, don't hold back. Can't hurt my sales any. People like murder, only it might be good if there was skin instead of only shadow, a tit say.” “Yes, very good then, appreciate your help. Carry on.” The dealer saluted. He saluted back, started off through the traffic, stomach growling, ignoring it, intent. A killer was at large. Weaving past kids terrorizing an entire block of cars with an elaborate tag game, cornering around the newly washed neighborhood now wringing itself out, muddy streams between the cars and crying babies ignoring vendors with items he couldn't afford and a flatbed farmer offering live kittens for pets or food and a pathetic miniature start-up, three cars idiotically nosing rocking jerking back and forth trying to rearrange themselves pointlessly, one of them now sideways wheels on the curb and nobody else even taking the bait he made his way back to his car and key in the lock noticed the girl from the Pacer standing in her red dress on the hood of the car gazing skyward, waiting for the Advertising people to take her away. Looking just incidentally like a million bucks. Her kid brother was away, maybe part of the gang playing tag, and her parents were inside the car doing housework Dad scraping the grill out the window Mom airing clothes repacking bundles so he went over, suddenly inspired. “Margaret, isn't it?” She nodded, smiled. “Yes, good, well you remember me from next door, I'm looking for a day or two's work and do you think they'll take me along?” She said, “You never know, they just take you or they don't.” Smiling graciously even if a little confused, neighbors so long and they'd never spoken. “But you always—” he began pointing out. She said, “Oh once they've started taking you then—” Awkwardly, they were both awkward for a moment not saying what they both knew or at least he did, that she was an attractive young girl and likely that made a huge difference in whether they wanted you. “Well you wouldn't mind if I tried?” he said and she said, “No, no,” relieved almost, then added, “I can point you out, I can suggest to them—” Now he was embarrassed and said hurriedly, “That's so good of you, thanks, and where should I wait, not here with you at your folks' car, I guess—” “Why not, climb up.” Dad looked out the door up at them and she waved him off. “It's okay, you know him from next door he's going to work, we're going to try to get him a job Advertising.” “Okay, sweetheart, just checking on you.” Then she grabbed his arm, said, “Look.” The Advertising hovercraft she'd been watching for landed on the curb a half block ahead, near the giant hideous sculpture at an office building main entrance, lately sealed. Dad said, “Get going you guys, and good luck,” and she said, “C'mon.” Such neighborliness was a surprise since he'd always felt shut out by the family in the Pacer but obviously it was in his head. And Margaret, a cloud of good feeling seemed to cover her. No wonder they wanted her for Advertising. “Hurry,” she said and took his hand and they hopped down and pushed their way around the cars and through