“Enough.”

“How much?”

“It’s not important, Gwen.”

Now she looked up, eyes flaring. “Don’t tell me that.”

Worth didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know how to tell her that there was no money. Not anymore. He’d watched Vince fire up the incinerator and toss in the sack.

Twenty-four hours.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said.

“How?”

An excellent question.

“I’ll take care of it,” he heard himself say.

23

By Tuesday morning, the temperature had risen above freezing, even with a foot and a half of snow on the ground. By afternoon, the streets coursed with runoff, and the storm drains babbled like happy brooks.

Don’t like the weather? Just wait five minutes. People around here loved saying corny bullshit like that. Eddie Tice couldn’t get a break.

“Don’t worry,” Darla told him. “It’ll pick up tonight.”

But it didn’t. Business was slow for any Tuesday, let alone a one-day-only Spooktacular.

Eddie sent Troy Mather and Derek Price to Rod Kush’s Furniture on a reconnaissance run. When they returned, Troy said, “Don’t worry, boss. It’s even deader’n this over there.” But Eddie could tell by looking at Derek that it was a flat-out goddamned lie.

Around nine o’clock, a bunch of high school kids came in and sat in the recliners, fiddled with stereo knobs, and ate about a hundred pounds of candy. Eventually, Eddie ran them all out. Half the little shitbags weren’t even dressed up as anything.

By then it was official. Halloween night was a royal bust at Tice Is Nice Quality Used and Discount Furniture.

What else was new? At ten-thirty, Eddie closed the store early and sent all the employees home. When nobody was looking, Darla rubbed his back through the stupid Dracula cape he’d worn and said, “It’s okay. This just leaves more time.”

Eddie couldn’t help but grin a little, despite his black mood. Looking at her did it to him. “Snow White, huh?”

Darla took a step back and curtseyed. She’d chosen the costume because her daughters were into the DVD. “Not for much longer.”

Eddie didn’t deserve the woman. That was all there was to it. She’d worked all morning to get the place decorated: black and orange crepe paper, jack-o’-lanterns sitting around in beds of loose straw, ghosts and bats hanging from the ceiling tiles. It seemed like a shame.

After everybody was gone, he locked the doors and shut down the lights. He used the cape to wipe the stage blood from the corners of his mouth, then wadded the whole thing into a ball and tossed it in the trash.

In the office, he pulled the bourbon from the middle drawer of his desk and filled a glass all the way to the rim.

Eddie had half a buzz working by the time he realized he wasn’t alone.

“Holy Christ,” he said. He sat up too quickly in the chair, sloshing fine Kentucky whiskey over the back of his hand. He reached out to the lamp on the desk and pulled the chain.

The man from Chicago rose from the Queen Anne replica chair in the corner. He came out of the shadows, into the dim yellow light.

Eddie said, “When did you get here?”

“Earlier,” the man said.

“You’re staying downtown? I told Plaski I’d send somebody.”

“That’s not a concern.”

“Jesus.” Eddie offered a welcoming smile. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Apologies,” the man from Chicago said.

Worth must have counted two dozen Spider-Men.

You couldn’t look in any direction without seeing a Harry Potter or an Incredible. Ballerinas appeared to be making a comeback, while angels and pirates seemed thin on the ground. Up and down the street, light-sabers bobbed along like disembodied stalks of neon in the silvery dark.

He sat at the curb and watched the parade of trick-ortreaters until long after dusk. They moved in chattering coveys, bundled up under their costumes, paced by adults on foot or in creeping SUVs. He saw firemen and surgeons, carpenters and ball players, even a cowgirl. So far, he hadn’t seen a single kid dressed up like a police officer.

By seven-thirty, the temperature had dipped enough to scatter the festivities to the indoor shopping malls at Westroads and Oak View. Soon homeowners began to emerge, huddle down their walks, and douse the paper-sack luminaries that glowed orange around the neighborhood.

You can’t just sit here. It was a wonder some vigilant soul hadn’t already called him in. Worth knew he was being foolish, but he couldn’t seem to get off the dime.

With everything else that had been happening, he’d actually forgotten that tonight was Halloween. Somehow he found himself transfixed by the innocent clockwork of it all.

Later, bored teenagers would show up in gore-splattered packs to festoon what was left of the trees with toilet paper. In other parts of town, buildings would get tagged. Shots would be fired, tires slashed. Property would end up listed on insurance claims.

But for now, it was still about little kids playing make-believe, dressing like their heroes, filled up with faith in a system that wouldn’t trick you if you played by the rules.

Worth didn’t realize he’d nodded off until he was jerked awake by somebody pounding on the window. When he saw who it was, he got a bad taste in his mouth.

“I thought we were done with this,” Mark Vargas said.

The street ahead had emptied, and the cab of the Ranger was cold. Worth moved his watch into the light of the streetlamp: 9:15.

This was crazy. He shouldn’t have driven out here. But he had, and here he sat. He took a breath, twisted the ignition to the accessory position, and ran the window down.

Vargas hadn’t put on a coat to come outside. He stood there in jeans and a sweater, breath coming out like steam. Just the sight of his face put a knot in Worth’s gut.

“She’s in there scared.” Vargas nodded across the street, to the house with all the landscaping and the big detached garage. “Does that make you happy?”

“No,” Worth said. “I’m not—”

“Sitting outside my house?” Vargas looked like he was ready for anything. “Seriously? We’re not done with this yet?”

Hearing it like that didn’t sound fair. All of that had ended months ago. “I’m not—”

“I told her it was a mistake to talk to you.”

“Look, this isn’t—”

“Put your hands where I can see them.”

Jesus. The guy actually thought he was here to hurt somebody.

Worth put his hands on the steering wheel and said, “I came to talk to you.”

“We talked already.”

“This isn’t about that.”

“Then what the hell are you doing here?”

Up the street, a guy straight out of an Eddie Bauer catalog stood up straight and looked their way. Vargas raised a hand to him. Don’t worry. Everything’s under control. The guy gave the Ranger a long sideways look and went back to snuffing his luminaries.

Worth realized he was gripping the steering wheel.

He made himself stop, looked at Mark Vargas, and swallowed every last ounce of his pride.

“I need your help,” he said.

It was painful, no question about that. But it didn’t hurt as much as he’d expected it would.

Eddie finished counting three hundred grand from the office safe, laying it into the plain brown case on the desk. Crisp new bundles, all twenties.

Honestly, the message from Chicago hurt more than the money. Eddie could be trusted; there was no reason to send a collector all the way here. But Mr. Plaski had insisted. Fucking Polacks.