The car moved slowly down the long alley behind him. From the sound of the V-8 engine, the thing was big—at least a Lincoln Town Car, possibly a real limo—and it was in no hurry. It stopped about fifty feet behind him.

Kurtz stepped into the corner where the loading dock met brick wall and let the pistol drop into his fingers. He cocked the hammer.

It was a limo. The headlights went out and in the dimmer glow of the parking lights, Kurtz could see the huge mass of the black car silhouetted against distant streetlights, its exhaust swirling around it like fog. A big man got out of the front passenger side and another big man stepped out of the rear left door. Both men reached under their blazer jackets to touch guns.

Kurtz set the hammer back in place, slid the small pistol back up into his palm, and walked toward the limousine. Neither of the bodyguards drew weapons or moved to frisk him.

Kurtz walked past the man holding the rear door open, glanced into the rear seat—illuminated by several halogen spots—and got into the car.

"Mr. Kurtz," said the old man seated there. He was wearing a tuxedo and had a Stewart-plaid lap robe over his legs.

Kurtz dropped into the jump seat opposite him. "Mr. Farino." He uncocked the pistol and slipped it back in his waistband.

The bodyguards closed the doors and remained outside in the cold.

"How is your investigation proceeding, Mr. Kurtz?"

Kurtz made a rude noise. "Some investigation. I interviewed your former accountant's wife for about five minutes and she ended up dead within the hour. That's all I've done."

"Investigating was never your real purpose, Mr. Kurtz."

"Tell me about it. It was my idea, remember? And my real purpose seems to be working fine. They've made the first move on me."

"You don't mean Carl?"

"No," said Kurtz, "I mean whoever called the cops and set me up after they murdered—butchered—Mrs. Richardson. They'd arranged a yard-shank job on me as soon as I got in general population."

Don Farino rubbed his cheek. It was a particularly rosy cheek for such a sick old man. Kurtz wondered idly if the don used makeup.

"And have you determined who set you up for this?" asked Farino.

"It's been suggested that it was a mook named Malcolm Kibunte who sometimes works for your lawyer, Miles. Do you know this Kibunte or the knife-man he hangs with? Cutter?"

Farino shook his head. "One is not able to keep track of all the black trash that comes through town these days. I presume these two are black."

"Malcolm is," said Kurtz. "Cutter's described as albino-like."

"And who told you about the shank job and suggested these names to you, Mr. Kurtz?" Farino's eyes were rapt.

"Your daughter."

Farino blinked. "My daughter? You've spoken to Sophia?"

"I've more than spoken to her," said Kurtz. "She bailed me out of jail before I went to County, and then took me home with her and tried to fuck me to death."

Don Farino's thin lips pulled back from his teeth and his fingers clenched on his knees under the robe. "Be careful, Mr. Kurtz. You speak too candidly."

Kurtz shrugged. "You're paying me for the facts. That was the setup we agreed to through Little Skag before I got out—I'd be point man and Judas goat for you and flush out whoever's betraying you. It was your daughter who acted—both in the bailing and fucking departments—I'm just reporting."

"Sophia has always been strong-willed and… of questionable judgment in her sexual choices," said Farino.

Kurtz shrugged again. He didn't give a damn about the fact or the insult behind it.

"Sophia told you about the connection between Miles and these two killers?" Farino said softly. "Suggesting that she believes Miles is behind everything?"

"Yep. But that doesn't mean she's telling the truth. She could be running both Miles and Malcolm and his knife-freak buddy."

"But you said that she was the one who bailed you out and warned you about the yard contract on you, Mr. Kurtz."

"She bailed me out. I have to take her word for the yard shank at County."

"And why would she go to all that trouble and lie?" asked Farino.

"To check me out," suggested Kurtz. "To find out what I'm really up to and how much I know. To put herself above suspicion." Kurtz looked out the tinted windows. The alley was very dark. "Mr. Farino, Sophia met bail, took me home, and almost threw me into the sack. Maybe she's just a tramp, like you say, but I don't believe it was my magnetic personality that made her go out of her way to seduce me."

"I doubt that you required much seducing, Mr. Kurtz."

"That's not the point," said Kurtz. "The point is that you know how intelligent she is—hell, that's why you're afraid she might be behind Richardson's disappearance and the truck hijackings—so you see why it makes more sense that there's a motive behind her actions."

"But Sophia is in line to inherit my wealth and much of the legitimate family business," said the don, looking at his clenched hands.

"That's what she said," said Kurtz. "Do you know any reasons why she would want to hurry the process along?"

Don Farino turned his face away. "Sophia has always been… impatient. And she would like to be Don."

Kurtz laughed. "Women can't be dons."

"Perhaps Sophia does not accept that," said Farino with a thin smile.

"You're not quite as busy circling the drain or as out of the loop as everyone thinks, are you?" said Kurtz.

Farino looked back at Kurtz, and there was something almost demonic in the old man's gaze. "No, Mr. Kurtz. I am paralyzed from the waist down and temporarily—how did you put it? Out of the loop. But I am nowhere near circling the drain. And I have no intention of staying out of the loop."

Kurtz nodded. "Maybe your daughter just doesn't want to wait around like Prince Charles for five or six decades and is ready to help the succession along a little bit. What's the fancy name for whacking the Old Man—patricide?"

"You are a crude man, Mr. Kurtz." Farino smiled again. "But there has been no discussion of whacking to this point. I hired you to find out what is going on with Richardson's disappearance and the truck hijackings."

Kurtz shook his head. "You hired me to be a target so you could find out who the shooter is so as to protect your own ass, Farino. Why did you kill Carl?"

"Pardon me?"

"You heard me. Sophia said Carl 'died of complications. Why did you put a hit on him?"

"Carl was a fool, Mr. Kurtz."

"No argument there, but why whack him? Why not just cut him loose?"

"He knew too much about the family."

"Bullshit," said Kurtz. "The average cub reporter at the Buffalo Evening News knows more about the workings of your mob family than dear, departed, dipshit Carl could've ever figured out. Why did you have him whacked?"

Farino was silent for several moments. Kurtz listened to the heavy engine idle. One of the bodyguards lit a cigarette, and the match flare was a small circle of diffused light in the black alley.

"I wanted to put her in touch with a certain… technician," Farino said at last.

"A hit man," said Kurtz. "Someone from outside the family."

"Yes."

"Someone outside the Mafia?"

Farino showed an expression of distaste, as if Kurtz had farted in his expensive limousine. "Someone from outside the organizational structure, yes."

Kurtz chuckled. "You sonofabitch. You wanted Sophia to spend time with this hit man just to see if she'd hire him to kill me. Ol' Carl died just so you'd have a reason for this operator and your little girl to chat."

Farino said nothing.

"Did she?" said Kurtz. "Hire him to kill me?"

"No."

"What's this technician's name?"