Carmen took the next two points, then Kim served two more aces and took the first game. It was Carmen’s serve, and she made the most of it. Carmen rushed the net each time, ready to knock back every return. She won the second game without giving Kim a point. Sweat darkened the back of Carmen’s navy-blue top. Kim’s already pink cheeks grew pinker.

“Any chance we can leave without being noticed?” I said to Susan.

“So much for showing support,” Susan said.

“I know what you mean, but just watching this has exhausted me.”

Susan nodded. “Poor baby. We’ll be discreet.”

“Let’s hit it, honey bun,” I said.

And we did.

I WAS UNLOCKING THE DOOR to my office when I saw a shadow in the corner by the stairwell. It moved. I backed up and reached for my weapon.

“Slide,” I said. “What are you doing over there? Come on in.” I opened the door.

He gave me a quick smile before putting out his hand. Maybe Carmen taught him. I took it, and gravely we shook.

“Are you very busy, Spenser?” he said.

“Not too busy. Tell me what’s up,” I said.

Slide had on a new pair of jeans and a Red Sox sweatshirt, along with the same oversize navy peacoat.

“I want to get a present for Carmen,” he said. He looked at me, trusting that I would know exactly what the twenty-nine-year-old ex-mistress of a drug czar would fancy for Christmas.

“What’s our budget?”

He looked worried. He dug into his jeans pocket and brought out some crumpled bills and gave them to me. Twenty-two dollars of hard-earned money. “This should do it,” I said to him. “Follow me.”

We left my office and headed toward the kiosks at Downtown Crossing, a street mall in an area near where Filene’s Basement once welcomed tourists and shoppers from the suburbs. Now carts lined the center of the street, each one loaded with scarves, hats, ties, flowers, and cheap jewelry.

I moved purposefully ahead through the crowds of shoppers, Slide at my heels. The carts were draped with Christmas lights, and the holiday music blared from outdoor speakers.

I turned to check on Slide. His thin face was pale and drawn. I felt his hand reach out for mine, and together we went along, inspecting each cart for something that he thought would be right for Carmen.

Slide tugged my hand when we got to the jewelry cart. He picked up a tiny silvertone pin in the shape of a tennis racquet, edged with blue enamel. “How much,” I asked the young woman behind the cart. “Fifteen,” she replied through a thick wad of chewing gum.

“Can you gift-wrap this for us,” I said.

Slide’s face showed a mixture of happiness and relief to have found the pin. He took the small box with its glossy paper and bright ribbon, and for the first time he seemed unafraid of the crowd and the noise. He held his hand out for his change, and he shoved it and the box into his jacket pocket.

“How about a hot chocolate?” I said.

He nodded, and we made our way through the shoppers to the Emack & Bolio’s on State Street.

We sat at a café table, and I watched Slide enjoying the marshmallow on top of his hot chocolate. He mashed it with his spoon to make it last longer. It was serious work.

I remembered how my dad and uncles would take me for a treat at the drugstore. I could still taste the hot fudge that got chewy on the melting scoop of vanilla ice cream.

When we had finished, we stood on the sidewalk to say our good-byes.

“Thanks for your help, Spenser,” Slide said. “I think Carmen will really love this, don’t you?”

“I do,” I said. “How did you get in here from Weston?” I asked. “And how are you going to get home?”

“Got a ride from one of the men at the farm,” Slide said. “They come in most days to run errands. Now I’ll go over to Street Business. Either Joe or Frankie will give me a ride back.”

I watched him melt into the crowd and disappear down the street. I wasn’t sure how I felt about an eleven-year-old boy negotiating the city streets on his own. I know I had done it myself, once upon a time. I could almost hear Hawk chiding me for being so soft. But that was different. It was Christmas in Boston. A boy should be able to travel these streets, as he had before. It was a time of peace and goodwill and all that. In a perfect world, the boy was heading for home, and parents watched for him at the window. Different times, indeed.

MY RED MESSAGE LIGHT was blinking when I returned to my office. I looked at it for a moment and wondered if I could get a matching green light in the spirit of the holidays. Then I pushed the button. It was Healy. I called him back.

“Any news?” he said after answering.

“Happy holidays to you as well,” I said.

“Right,” he said. “Anything happening with Alvarez?”

“Well, Rita Fiore’s got a mean serve.”

“Very funny.”

I told him about the tennis event at the farm.

“So what did you learn about Alvarez?”

“He’s got twenty-four-hour security and a small but well-equipped arsenal out there. Carmen tells me he’s got a safe room under the stable, which is probably where he keeps the kind of paperwork that can earn him the horizontal stripes. She doesn’t think he’s getting ready to bolt, but she also says she hasn’t been close to him lately and wouldn’t know.”

“He wouldn’t take her with him?”

“No. She thinks he’d kill her instead because she knows too much.”

“Well, I’ve got word the Feds are sure Alvarez is about to blow town. Definitely by New Year’s, if not by Christmas.”

“Christmas? That’s two days away.”

“There’s a lot of chatter, lots of money moving around. People in motion,” Healy said. “All circumstantial at the moment. But if we’re going to nab him, it’s going to have to be soon. Which means that if Alvarez thinks he has some loose ends to tie, he’s going to act soon. You might want to let your friend Carmen know.”

I hung up, then dialed Carmen.

“Spenser,” she said. “I was just about to call you.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she said. “But something is happening here. Do you remember the dinner party I told you about? It’s still on, tonight instead of tomorrow. Juan just came by the stable to inform me. He was charming, but it was clear I was being instructed to attend, not invited.”

“What time is this all transpiring?”

“Cocktails at six-thirty. Dinner at seven-thirty.”