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still leaning against the car across the street and watching to see what would happen. With my right hand on the steering wheel, I leaned my head out the driver's side window and let my left arm hang straight down toward the ground.
    Â Â Â Â Â "Hey son, why don't you clean it off and check the oil while you're there?"
    Â Â Â Â Â He cursed and I slowly lifted my left arm up, so the gun I was holding was pointed at his chest. He smirked at the weapon, then looked at my eyes. Something he saw there made him freeze. The wiper snapped back against the windshield.
    Â Â Â Â Â I gave the gang across the street one more quick look, then floored it. The guy had good reflexes and he jumped away in time to avoid being hit. I heard his startled cry then an angry curse as I barreled down the block.
    Â Â Â Â Â It was only later, when I could no longer see the guy in the mirror and I was stuck in traffic on Main, that I began to wonder why I hadn't been afraid. I didn't experience the usual creeping anxiety, the heart-stopping fear. It didn't even bother me that I was dealing with a kid. The only feeling I had was the certainty that I would shoot.

CHAPTER 6

    Noise: Music, feminine laughter, masculine shouting, all louder than necessary, all in competition. The men's shouts show that they're in charge, and they can do what they like—at least here in this club near the corner of Market Street. The women's laughter advertises that they are available to those who know their language. It makes it clear that they are women—at least here near the corner of Market they are.
    Â Â Â Â Â One of these women might be Gladys Ferrow. She has several arrests for prostitution. She is thirty-six, younger than Celia. According to her file, she used to frequent this dive.
    Â Â Â Â Â Arany stops at the door for a moment as his eyes get used to the semi-darkness and his ears adjust to the waves of noise. Then he walks quickly up to the bar. He doesn't want to stand there calling unnecessary attention to himself.
    Â Â Â Â Â "Bourbon," he says. He shoves his hand into his pocket.
    Â Â Â Â Â The bartender glances at him, turns away and takes down a bottle.
    Â Â Â Â Â "How do you take it?"
    Â Â Â Â Â "With two fingers whiskey, two fingers soda, ice …" he took his hand out of his pocket, showing a loosely crumpled twenty in his fist "and an answer."
    Â Â Â Â Â "I just serve drinks."
    Â Â Â Â Â "I want a special drink, that's all. I can pay."
    Â Â Â Â Â The bartender puts back the bottle and grabs another one. He tips it upside down and lets the whiskey fall into a double shot glass until it's just about to overflow, then deftly dumps the shot into a glass containing a couple lumps of ice.
    Â Â Â Â Â "Get lost, Nick," he says, looking behind Arany's left shoulder. "We're having a chat, this gentleman and me."
    Â Â Â Â Â While he squirts soda into the glass, the bartender casually tosses a drink coaster so that it lands right in front of Arany. Then he puts the drink down and wipes the bar clean at the same time.
    Â Â Â Â Â Arany nods in deference to the snappy service.
    Â Â Â Â Â "Thanks. For handling Nick, that is."
    Â Â Â Â Â The bartender shrugs. "The question?"
    Â Â Â Â Â "Gladys Ferrow." Arany sips his drink, rests his elbow on the bar and half turns around to look the room over. The regulars ignore him, Arany can't decide which one might be Nick.
    Â Â Â Â Â The bartender shrugs his narrow shoulders again.
    Â Â Â Â Â Arany sighs and empties his glass.
    Â Â Â Â Â "She's in her forties. Seen better days. Kind of droopy tits and a big ass …" he thinks a minute. "She has bad teeth."
    Â Â Â Â Â The bartender half shrugs and makes a sweeping gesture with one hand that indicates the room behind