"How do you know Victor?" His voice was soft and neutral and that surprised her because she expected lawyers would ask questions with gruff voices, sneery and mean.

Rune swallowed and realized suddenly she couldn't be Symington's granddaughter. Stein might have done the man's will; he'd know all the relatives by heart. Then she remembered who his daughter, Emily, thought she was at first. She smiled and said, "I'm a friend." Putting special emphasis on the word.

He nodded. Neutrally. "From where?"

"We used to live near each other. The East Village. I'd come and visit him sometimes."

"Ah. And how did you know about me?"

"He mentioned you. He said good things about you."

"So, you'd visit him." The lawyer looked her up and down with a whisper of lechery on his face.

"Once a week. Sometimes twice. For an old guy he was pretty… well, energetic. So can you tell me where he is?" Rune asked.

"No."

She swallowed again and was mad that this man was making her swallow and be nervous. Sometimes it was so hard to be adult. She cleared her throat and sat forward. "Why not?"

The lawyer shrugged. "Client confidentiality. Why do you want to see him?"

"He left in such a hurry. I wanted to talk to him is all and I didn't get a chance to. One day he was on Tenth Street and the next he was gone."

"How old are you?"

"Isn't that some kind of crime to ask how old someone is?"

"I'm not discriminating against you on the basis of your age. I just want to know how old you are."

Rune said, "Twenty. How old are you?"

"I assume you don't really want to talk to him. Do you? I assume your relationship or whatever you want to call it wasn't based on talking. Now-"

"Five hundred," she blurted out. "He owed me five hundred."

"For one night?" Stein looked her up and down again.

"For one hour," Rune said.

"One hour," he responded.

"I'm very good."

"Not that good," the lawyer said. "One client of mine paid four thousand for two hours."

Four thousand? What'd that involve? She thought of several best-selling tapes at Washington Square Video: Mistress Q and House of Pain.

Sick world out there.

The lawyer's neutral voice asked, "And if I were to give you that five hundred dollars, would you forget about Mr. Symington? Would you forget that he left in a hurry? Would you forget everything about him?"

"No," Rune said abruptly. The man blinked. Got a rise out of him there. She tried on her adult persona again. "But I will for two thousand."

Which got an even bigger rise and he actually gave her a smile. It was-naturally-neutral but it was a smile nonetheless. He said, "Fifteen hundred."

"Deal." She started to extend her hand to shake but apparently this wasn't done in matters of this sort.

He pulled a pad toward him. "Where should I send the check?"

"Here." Rune held her hand forward, palm out.

Another smile. Irritated, less neutral this time. She was supposed to be stupid and intimidated. But here she was, staring back into his eyes, looking, more or less, adult. Finally he rose. "I'll just be a minute. Payable to cash, I assume?"

"That'll work."

He walked silently out of the office, buttoning his jacket as he left. He was gone longer than Rune thought he'd be-thinking he'd just tell his secretary to cut a check-but no, he was gone for a full five minutes.

Which was more than enough time for Rune to lean forward and flip through Stein's Rolodex and find Victor Symington's card. The address had been crossed out several times and a new one written in.

In Brooklyn. The address was in Brooklyn. She recited it several times softly out loud. Closed her eyes. She tested herself and found she'd memorized it. She flipped the Rolodex back to where it had been.

Rune fell back into her slouch in the chair and looked at the lawyer's wall, wondering if there were some special kinds of frames you were supposed to use for diplomas. Mr. Go-to-School-and-Lead-a-Productive-Life Richard didn't have any goddamn diplomas on his ugly beige suburban walls.

Phillip Dixon, the U.S. marshal, hadn't even gone to college, she bet. He seemed perfectly happy. But before she could play her game of making up an elaborate life for him, starting with his partner being tragically gunned and dying in his amrs, Lawyer Stein returned.

He had an envelope and a sheet of paper. Handed her both. She scanned the document quickly but it was full of whereases and words like indemnity and waiver. She gave up after the first paragraph.

"That's a receipt for the money. You agree that if you don't keep your bargain we can sue you for all this money back plus costs and attorney's fees, and…"

Rune was staring at the check.

"… punitive damages."

Whatever.

Rune signed the paper, put the check in her bag.

"So Mr. Symington doesn't exist, right?"

"Mr. who?"

"So how was the date?" Stephanie asked.

"With Richard?" Rune responded.

"Who else?" the redhead replied.

Rune considered the question for a moment. Then asked. "You ever see Rodan?"

They were at the counter of Washington Square Video.

"You mean his sculpture?"

Who? This was like Stallone's poetry. "No, I mean the flying dinosaur that destroyed Tokyo. Or maybe New York. Or someplace. A movie from the fifties."

"Missed that."

"Anyway, that was my date. A disaster. Not even a Spielberg disaster movie. A B-movie disaster."

She told Stephanie about Karen.

"Shit. That's bad. Other-woman stuff. Hard to get around them."

Them's the breaks…

Rune said, "Here." She reached into her purse and handed Steph the orange earrings.

"No," the woman protested. "You keep them."

"Nope. I'm off high fashion. Listen, do me a favor, please?"

"What?"

"I've got to go to Brooklyn. Can you work for me?"

"I guess. But won't Tony be pissed?"

"Just tell him… I don't know. I had to go someplace. To visit Frankie's sister in the hospital."

"She's home. With the baby."

"Well, I went to see her at home."

"Tony'd call and check."

Rune nodded. "You're right. Just make up something. I don't care."

"What're you gonna do in Brooklyn?"

"The money. I've got a lead to the money."

"Not that stolen bank money?"

"Yep. And don't forget the story of the Little Red Hen."

Stephanie smiled. "I'm not quitting my day job just yet."

"Probably a good idea." Rune slung her leopard-skin purse over her shoulder and headed out the door. "But keep the faith. I'm getting close."

Ten minutes later she was en route to Brooklyn. In search of Victor Symington.

On the subway, the riders were silent, subdued. One woman whispered to herself. A young couple had their precious new TV on the seat next to them, bundled in thick string, a receipt from a Crazy Eddie store taped to the box. A Latino man stood leaning forward, staring absently at the MTA map; he didn't seem to care much where he was headed. Almost everyone in the car, bathed in green fluorescence, was slumped and sullen as the car lurched into the last station in Manhattan before the descent beneath the East River.

Uneasy again.

Leaving the Side, leaving her territory.

Just before the doors eased shut, a man walked stiffly onto the train. He was white but had a dark yellowish tan. She couldn't guess his age. The car wasn't full but he sat directly across from Rune. He was wearing dusty clothes. Coming home from a construction job or hard day labor, tired, spent. He was very thin and she wondered if he was sick. He fell asleep immediately and Rune couldn't help but stare at him. His head bobbed and swayed, eyes closed, his head rolled. Keeping his blind focus on Rune.