"Oh, no…"

"Has anyone threatened you? Or have you noticed anything suspicious since the killing on Tenth Street?"

"No." She looked down for a moment, uneasy, then back to the marshal.

Dixon examined her face closely. His expression gave away nothing. He said, "For your sake, for a lot of people's sake, I need you to tell me what your involvement with this whole thing is."

"There's no-"

"This's real serious, miss. It mightVe seemed like a game at first. But it isn't. Now, I can have you put into protective custody and we'll sort it out later… I really don't think you'd like to spend a week in Women's Detention? Now, what's the story?"

There was something about his voice that sounded as if he was really concerned. Sure, he was threatening her in a way but that just seemed to be his style. It probably went with the job. And she felt that he was really worried that she might end up like Kelly or Susan Edelman.

So she told him a few things. About the movie, the stolen bank loot, about the connection between Mr. Kelly and the robbery. Nothing about Symington. Nothing about churches or suitcases. Nothing about Amanda LeClerc.

Dixon nodded slowly and she couldn't tell what he was thinking. The only thing that seemed to interest him was the old robbery.

Why'd he lift his eyebrow at that? she wondered.

Dixon asked, "Where do you live?"

She gave him the address.

"Phone number?"

"No phone. You can call here, the video store, leave a message."

Dixon thought for a moment. "I don't think you're in danger."

"I didn't see anything, I really didn't. Just this green car. That's all I remember. No faces, no license plates. There's no reason to kill me."

This seemed to amuse him. "Well, that's not really the issue, miss. The reason you're not dead is that somebody doesn't want you dead. Not yet. If they did, you'd be gone. If I were you, though, I'd forget about this bank robbery money. Maybe that's what was behind Mr. Kelly's shooting. You're probably safe for now but if you keep poking around… who knows what could happen?"

"I was just-"

Suddenly his face softened and he smiled. "You're a pretty woman. You're smart. You're tough, I can see that. I just wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

Rune said, "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." Though she was really only thinking two things: That Dixon wasn't wearing a wedding ring. And that he was a hell of a lot cuter than she'd thought at first.

"What was that all about? Did that guy have a badge?" Stephanie sounded breathless.

Rune walked behind the counter at Washington Square Video, joining Stephanie at the register. She answered, "He was a U.S. marshal…" Then she shook her head. "The other witness-to Mr. Kelly's murder?- she was killed."

"No!"

"It might've been an accident. Maybe not." Rune stared at the monitor. There was no movie in the VCR and she was looking at silent snow. "Probably not," she whispered.

"Are you, uhm, safe?" Stephanie asked.

"He thinks so."

"Thinks?"

"But there's one thing funny."

"What?"

"He was a U.S. marshal?"

"You said that."

"Why would he be involved in a murder of somebody in the East Village?"

"What do you mean?"

Rune was thinking. "I saw this movie on Dillinger. You know John Dillinger?"

"Not personally."

"Ha. He robbed banks. Which is, like, a federal offense-so it wasn't the city cops who were after him. It was the G-men."

"G-men?"

"Federal agents. You know, government men. Like the FBI. Like U.S. Marshals."

"Oh, wait, you're not thinking he's investigating that bank robbery you were telling me about. The one fifty years ago?"

Rune shrugged. "He didn't say anything but it's kind of a coincidence, don't you think? He seemed real interested when I said something to him about it."

Stephanie turned back to Variety. "Little farfetched."

But what's far-fetched in the whole scheme of things-as Richard might have asked.

Rune found the Brooklyn Yellow Pages. She opened it to Churches. Seemed funny you could find escort services, Roto-Rooter companies, and churches in the same directory.

She flipped through the pages. Man, there were a lot of pages.

She started to make calls.

A half hour later Stephanie asked Rune, "You think I'll get the part?"

"What part?" Rune asked absently, phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder. She was on hold. (It also seemed weird to call a church and be put on hold.)

"Didn't I tell you? I'm auditioning next week. It's only a commercial. But still… They pay great. I've got to get it. It's totally important."

Rune stiffened suddenly as the minister came on the line.

"Hello?"

"Reverend, Father, sir… I'm trying to find some information about my grandfather? Robert Kelly? About seventy. Do you know if he spent any time at your parish?"

"Robert Kelly? No, miss, I sure don't."

"Okay, Father. Thank you. Oh, and have a nice day." She set the receiver in the cradle, pushed aside the Yellow Pages, and asked Stephanie, "Do you say that to priests?"

"What?"

" 'Have a nice day?' I mean, shouldn't you say something more meaningful? More spiritual?"

"Say whatever you want." Stephanie put Variety away, began reshelving cassettes in the stacks. She said, "If I don't get the job I'll just die. It's a whole commercial. Thirty seconds. I'd play a young wife with PMS and I can't enjoy my anniversary dinner until I take some pills."

"What pills?"

"I don't know. 'Cramp-Away.' "

"What?"

"Well, something like that. Then I take them and my husband and I waltz off happily. I get to wear a long white dress. That's so disgusting when they do that, wear white in menstrual commercials. I'm also worried 'cause I can't waltz. Dancing isn't exactly my strong suit. And I can't-just between you and me-I can't sing too good either. It's a real pain in the ass getting jobs when you can't sing and dance."

"You've got a great body and great hair."

And you're tall, Goddammit.

Flipping through more pages, ignoring the synagogues and mosques. "Amanda's calling too… I feel sorry for her. Poor woman. Imagine-her friend's killed and they're kicking her out of the country."

"By the way, I don't think they're all parishes," Stephanie said.

"You think I was pissing them off by calling them parishes?" Rune was frowning.

"I think they get pissed when you worship Satan and cast spells. I don't think they care what you call their churches. I'm just telling you for your own, you know, edification."

Rune picked up the phone and then put it down again. She glanced at the door as a thin young woman, dark-complected, entered. The woman had a proper pageboy cut and was wearing a navy-blue suit, carrying a heavy, law- or accounting-firm briefcase in one hand. Rune swiftly sized her up, whispered to Stephanie, "A dollar says it's Richard Gere."

Stephanie waited until the woman moved to the comedy section and pulled The Sting off the shelf before reaching into her pocket and slipping four quarters onto the countertop. Rune put a dollar bill next to them. Stephanie murmured, "Think you're getting to be hot shit, huh? You can spot 'em?"

"I can spot 'em," Rune said.

The woman wandered around the aisles, not sensing Rune and Stephanie watching her while they pretended to work. She came up to the counter and set the Newman-Redford movie on the rubber change mat beside the cash register. "I'll take that." She handed Rune her membership card. Stephanie, smiling, reached for the money. The woman hesitated and then said, "Oh, maybe I'll get another one too." Stepping away to the drama section.