“Not at all.”

“Afternoons are common. And sometimes late nights. Very late.”

Charlie spread wide his hands. “Hey, I’m at your disposal.”

“Splendid. Do you have a cell phone?”

“No. Unfortunately, I’ve had to scale back a bit of late. Cut out the nonessentials.”

“I understand entirely.”

The most remarkable part, all things considered, was how utterly respectable this office seemed. From all outward appearances, he might as well be interviewing for a job as church secretary, perhaps the mayor’s aide. But this sort of thing had to be low-key, he supposed. Couldn’t attract attention. A big neon sign reading PIMP would probably be a mistake.

“Do you have any hobbies? Other than your theater work?”

“Well, I haven’t had too much time for it lately, but, yeah, I love to read. Haunt the libraries, you know. Learned most of my best tricks and techniques there, courtesy of the Cook County taxpayers. And I make boxes.”

“Boxes?”

“Hard to explain. I got the idea last time I was in Santa Fe. It’s kind of like painting, except on a three-dimensional surface. Sometimes I follow a theme, sometimes I go more abstract. I got one in a gallery on Michigan once. Never sold, though.”

The man smiled pleasantly. “My late wife was fond of miniatures. Little dollhouses, I called them.”

Charlie tried to suppress his urge to barf. “Well, that’s… somewhat similar, yeah.”

“Where are you living?”

“I’m kind of between places at the moment. I’d been rooming with a guy for years but… well, you know how these things shake out sometimes. It didn’t work anymore. Then I left town and, since I’ve been back, I’ve been squatting in a real dive. One of those rent-by-the-week joints. I think some of my neighbors may be renting in five-minute increments.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Yeah. So you can see why I’m interested in making some cash. I got things to take care of.”

“But of course you do.” He scanned a form that lay on the desk before him. “Just a few more things we need to cover…”

None of this get-to-know-you BS fooled Charlie for a moment. The man cared about only two things: how much are you willing to do, and how big is it? And if Charlie wanted work, it’d better be big.

“Are you active in sports?”

“Oh yeah. You may not be able to tell-I’ve always been on the skinny side-but I love to get outdoors and work up a sweat. I play racquetball several times a week.” Which was total bull, but it was the most big-dickish answer he could come up with off the top of his head. “We were in the state finals last year.”

“Impressive. Could we talk a moment about your professional qualifications?”

Here we go. “Of course.”

“You say you’ve done this sort of thing before.”

“Oh yeah.”

“So you wouldn’t be uncomfortable with the general parameters of escort work.”

“Not a bit.”

“Then let me ask. Are there any activities you wouldn’t be willing to engage in?”

Charlie hesitated. “I’m not sure. Perhaps if you could give me some idea…”

“For instance, many of our clients are older women. Considerably older than yourself. Would that be a problem?”

Charlie’s face brightened. “I love older women. Bring on the grandmas.”

“And some of our clients are rather… large.”

“Fine, fine. More to love.”

The man did not crack a glimmer of a smile. “What about men?”

“Men?”

“Yes. Would that be a problem?”

“I’d… probably prefer not to do men. I just… it’s not my thing, you know?”

“Are you certain about that? We get many requests from male clients. With relatively few outlets for that sort of thing or places to meet men with similar interests, many do find themselves turning to us for assistance. If you were willing to take male clients, we could provide you with a great deal of work. And you did say you needed funds…”

Charlie thought long and hard. It was tempting, no doubt about it. If he could score some big money, fast, he could buy some fake ID, get his records altered. Make himself untraceable. Maybe even fly off to Rio and disappear once and for all.

But then he thought about Dean, and that first hideous, painful night…

“No. I’m sorry, I can’t do that. But bring on the women, and I’ll give them something they never dreamt-”

“Are there any acts you would not be willing to engage in? Any positions?”

“With the grandmas? Nah. I don’t care.”

“Well, then, that just about covers it, I think.” He stacked his papers and punched a perfectly placed staple in the upper left corner. “I don’t see why you can’t start immediately.”

“Great.”

“My secretary will issue you a pager. Please keep it on your person at all times. If we buzz you, proceed to a telephone as soon as possible for your instructions.”

“Roger.”

“Now there are a few rules we should review. First-”

“Get the money up front.”

The man’s lips thinned. Was that what passed for a smile with this guy? “Yes. There are others, however. Our clients must always be treated with respect. Be punctual. Never argue. The customer is always right. And most important-”

“Get the money up front. I understand. Believe me-I’ve been there.”

“Good. We shouldn’t have any problems. May I validate your parking?”

“Uh, no. I took the bus.” Which was true, even though it didn’t leave often and never went exactly where he needed to go. But he felt safer in a bus than he did walking the streets. Anything could happen to you when you were walking alone on the street, Charlie thought, a sudden chill running down his back. Like with Tony Barovick. He knew what had happened to that poor kid-like no one else did.

Well, almost no one. One did. The one who was undoubtedly searching the streets of the city, night and day, looking for Charlie the Chicken. So he could do it again.

Christina and Loving sat in a booth, casing the joint as they huddled over two longneck beers and a video monitor. Loving preferred to get the lay of a place before he barged in asking questions. And it was just as well, because Remote Control was not your average singles bar.

“So this is how they do it in the big city,” Christina said. “Back in Tulsa, they’d just have a debutante ball.”

“That would be an improvement,” Loving replied.

“I suppose this is better than trying to meet someone in an online chat room.”

“ ‘Fyou say so.”

“You can tell if a guy is really a guy.”

“Mebbe.”

“I suppose you preferred it when you could just club a woman over the head and drag her by the hair back to your cave.”

He shrugged. “Did simplify things.”

Christina scoped out the crowded bar. It was filled with people using video monitors, all of them hooked up to a single camera network. From the relative privacy of your booth, you could channel surf-for people. Keep switching from channel to channel till you saw someone you liked, then push a button to let your obscure object of desire know you’re watching. If there is no objection, you pick up the phone and chat. A meat market for the Nintendo generation.

“I know we’re working,” Christina said, “but I won’t object if you want to try it out. After all, a good investigator has to get a feel for the environment.”

“Pass,” Loving said.

“Too chicken?”

“Too smart.”

There was a buzzing sound, followed by a pop-up message on their screen. “Channel 42 says, ‘Hi!’ Would you like to reply? Press A to initiate contact. Press B to send them packing.”

Christina gave Loving a poke. “C’mon. Go for it.”

“Nuh-huh. The message is from someone named Adam. He doesn’t wanna talk to me. Or if he does, I don’t wanna talk to him.”

“Well, I’m game.” Christina pushed the A button. A head shot of a dark-complexioned man in his early thirties popped onto the screen. “Ten-four, Adam. This is Becky Sue.”