“But you got out and you’re okay?”

“Apparent ly.”

“I swear I thought you were dead.”

“It’s not for lack of someone trying,” said Kyle.

“I’ve been calling your cell all morning.”

“I sort of left it in my car, which I sort of left at the house.” “That’s a shame, right there, because that was a nice phone.” “I need to get my car back.”

“Bad news, I’m afraid. Your car was totaled in the fire.” “Now you shut up.”

“I saw a picture on the news, and that car was gone. It looked like the junkers you see parked on the street in Kensington, the paint all burned off, the rear end exploded.”

“Kat. My car. The last thing I owned in this world was my car.”

“It was insured, though, right?”

“It was. For a time. I think. Last year at least.”

“Kyle, sweetie. Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. I’m in the middle of something you would not believe if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“It’s so crazy I can’t even talk about it. But I’ll tell you this: I’m learning a hell of a lot about my father.”

“Your father?”

“Yeah, and you want to know something? The more I learn, the less I like. Best thing he ever did was disappear from my life. So why all the exclamation marks on your note?”

“Because I wanted to know if you were alive. And because some cop from Havertown has been calling. Someone named Demerit. He says he needs to talk to you about the fire. And about the fireworks. Do you want his number?”

“No.”

“As your lawyer, I advise that it’s better for you to get in touch with him than have him find you.”

“Yeah, well, he’s like ninth on my list. Listen, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Okay.”

“Remember that good-looking cop who was interrogating me at the Roundhouse?”

“Oh, yeah, with the lips and the hips.”

“Her name’s Ramirez. You’ve got to find her and give her something, all right?” Kyle pulled out the card O’Malley had handed him and read the phone number to Kat. “It belongs to a guy who called himself O’Malley, Thomas O’Malley, but the name is fake. Anyway, I’d bet he knows something about Laszlo Toth’s murder and maybe about the fire, too. See if she can use the number to find the bastard.”

“Okay. Anything else I can do?”

“Not right now. But I have a story to tell you, Kat, that will set your hair on fire.”

The phone back in its cradle, he stood at the open door of the closet in Kat’s spare bedroom, facing the single piece of clothing hanging on the pole. His father was insisting he wear a suit, but his father had turned out to be a blowhard, and Kyle, as a matter of principle, ignored the lowing of blowhards. Then again, maybe the old guy was right. Kyle remembered the way the secretary in his father’s old office had looked at him when he came in with his shorts and T-shirt, like he was beneath even dealing with in such a place. Maybe, in this adventure, he should dress more the part of the hard-boiled detective out to solve a crime. Except he didn’t want his father to have the satisfaction of successfully telling him how to dress. Then again, after all these years, maybe he ought to throw the old man a bone.

Damn, he thought, this is harder than adolescence.

Ten minutes later, showered and shaved, with his black shoes on, his gray suit buttoned, and a pair of shades covering his eyes, Kyle climbed down the stairs from Kat’s apartment, slipped through the vestibule, and slowly opened the door to the outside. He looked left, nothing. He looked right, nothing. He straightened his thin black tie as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, scanning the street for his father.

“Hey.”

He turned toward the voice, saw a huge figure in a purple velvet sweat suit stepping out of a recessed doorway and heading right for him. Kyle turned to tear away in the opposite direction when another figure stepped out of a second doorway. He recognized one of the lugs who’d been sitting outside Tiny Tony’s place in the instant before the lug slammed him hard in the chest, spinning him around so that Vern could grab hold of him by the lapels with both hands.

“Look who it is,” said Vern as he pulled Kyle close enough for Kyle to smell the espresso on his breath. “Just the Joe we was waiting on.”

“Convenient, isn’t it?” said the lug from behind. “The way he came right to where we was waiting.”

“Mr. Sorrentino sent us over to ask about that file,” said Vern. “You know, the one you said you’d find for him to make up for what your son-of-a-bitch father stole.”

“I never said that I—” Before he could finish, the lug slammed a forearm into Kyle’s back, denting his kidneys. Kyle’s knees buckled even as he was held aloft by Vern’s huge, gnarled hands.

“We don’t want no story,” said Vern. “Some guys, they think we’re in Hollywood, all the stories they try to give. But we ain’t in Hollywood, we ain’t no producers, we’re only a couple of leg breakers in Philadelphia, and we don’t want no story. All we want is an answer. You got it yet?”

“Not yet,” squeaked Kyle.

“Too bad,” said Vern.

CHAPTER 36

WATCH OUT FOR THE SUIT ,” said Kyle as Vern and the second lug pulled and shoved him so quickly along the sidewalk that his feet barely touched the ground.

“Worry less about the suit and more about your skin,” said Vern.

“My skin doesn’t need to be pressed at the dry cleaner when it wrinkles.”

“And now that you mention it,” said Vern “your tie could use a little color.”

“So says the heavy in the purple velvet sweat suit.”

“It ain’t purple, baby, it’s violet. And it ain’t velvet,” said Vern with an extra shove, “it’s velour.”

They were headed toward a narrow alley that cut through Kat’s block. Kyle had spent enough time with these creeps in an alley to know that was not where he wanted to go. He grabbed at Vern’s wrists and struggled to get away, but Vern held on tight as he lifted him off the ground, and another blow from behind left Kyle gasping and limp.

“Don’t fight so hard,” said Vern. “We ain’t killing you. This time. But the boss said we ought to put a bit of giddyup in your gallop.”

“I’ve been looking.”

“Mr. Sorrentino wants that you look harder.”

As they approached the alley, Kyle went through his options. He couldn’t go right at Vern, he was being held too close to put a shoulder in the big man’s chest, and whenever he started swinging his arms, the lug clobbered him from behind. At the same time, he couldn’t wipe out the lug, because Vern’s grip kept his shoulders from turning. Somehow he had to switch the odds into his favor, but now it was two to one against, and the geometry was all wrong. He needed to find the correct angle.