Then I told myself to suck it up and focus on the job at hand. The stakes were too high for me to fuck up now because I was feeling moony over a woman. Even if the woman was Lacey.

The Palace’s dressing room for performers was located in a basement that looked like it hadn’t been swept out since Bush was President – the first one. It was ten after two when I knocked on the door, which was answered by the lead singer, who I remembered went by the name of some insect – Daddy Longlegs, that was it.

He looked at me and said, “What?” His voice sounded hoarse.

“We’d like a few minutes of your time,” I said. Politeness pays, especially when you want a favor from some people who probably don’t like you very much.

He stared a couple of seconds longer. “Hey – I know you.”

“Yeah, you do.” I held up my ID folder and let him see my badge. It was meaningless here, since Karl and I were out of our jurisdiction – but I was hoping a bunch of musicians wouldn’t know about stuff like that. “Mind if we come in?”

“Yeah, OK. Sure.”

He stepped back and let us into a twenty-by-twenty windowless room with concrete floors, harsh fluorescent lighting, and heating pipes running across the ceiling. There were some beat-up gray lockers, a couple of long benches, and another door through which I could hear water running.

The other two guys in the band looked up from the task of putting their instruments away. They didn’t seem happy to see us, but nobody went for a weapon. That was about the best I figured we could expect.

I looked at Daddy Longlegs. “Where’s your bass player – the girl?”

“She’s in the shower.”

“You mind getting her for me?”

He took a couple of steps toward the open door and called, “Hey, Scar! Come on out – we got visitors.”

The sound of running water stopped. A minute or so later, the young woman – whose real name, I knew, was Meredith Schwartz – came out, using a towel to wipe down her buzz-cut blonde hair. Apart from the towel, she was naked, but the guys in the band showed about as much interest as if she’d been wearing a suit of armor.

She looked at Daddy Longlegs. “Hey – who called five-oh?”

“Nobody,” he told her. “Guy said he wants to talk to us.”

She turned to me. “What about?”

“Why don’t you put something on first?” I said. I was trying to keep my gaze focused on her face, but one quick glance below told me that she had several more tats – besides the human heart on her arm that I’d seen before – and no pubic hair.

“How come?” She gave me an evil grin. “This ain’t in public or nothin’.”

According to the research Karl and I had done on the band the night before, Meredith Schwartz was an honors graduate of Mount Holyoke College, but she sure didn’t act or talk like a typical Seven Sisters grad – at least, I hoped she didn’t.

“We appreciate that you got the right to dress however you want in private,” Karl said. “But we were hoping to have a conversation, and you’re kind of… distracting.” Then he gave her a big smile.

“Hey, you’re a vamp!” she said with delight. “I didn’t know there were any vamp cops.”

“There’s at least one,” Karl said. “So, you mind getting dressed, or what?”

I couldn’t tell if he put any Influence behind the request, but Meredith shrugged and said, “Sure.”

She walked over to one of the lockers and pulled out a sleeveless T-shirt, jeans, and a pair of old Adidas running shoes. Without wasting time, she put them all on.

I, of course, didn’t stare at her tight young body while all this was happening. I’m not some creepy old man. But I do have good peripheral vision.

Meredith finished tying her shoelaces and straightened up. “Better?”

“Less distracting, anyway,” Karl said. “Thanks.”

She gave him a look that said she might not be averse to distracting him again sometime, but turned toward me as I said, “We’re not here to give you guys a hard time – about anything. Truth is, we need to ask you for a favor.”

One of the other guys said, “Favor? What kind of favor?”

“We want to make use of your band’s special talent – more precisely, Scar’s ability to drive men into a frenzy by her singing.”

“In a house near Scranton,” Karl said, “there’s a very bad dude holed up, surrounded by a bunch of guys with guns who aren’t afraid to use them. If we went straight in after him, there’d be a bloodbath.”

“Even assuming we could get authorization to go in after him,” I said, “which we can’t.”

The beanpole who called himself Daddy Longlegs looked at me. “How come?”

“Politics,” was all I said, but his nod seemed to say that he understood.

“So you want Scar to sing to these guys,” he said, “so they’ll run after her and forget all about guarding this bad guy you wanna bust.”

“Yeah, that’s about right,” I said.

Scar looked at me, hands on hips. “So, what’s the catch?”

“It could be dangerous,” I told her. “Very dangerous.”

Her challenging expression slowly changed into a wide grin. “Shit, man – that ain’t the catch,” she said. “That’s the fun.”

We’d borrowed the flatbed truck from Karl’s cousin Ernie, who owned a John Deere franchise and used the vehicle to move heavy equipment around. Tonight it was being used to transport Banshee’s amps and instruments, along with a portable generator I’d brought to provide power. When I’d suggested that Scar just sing a cappella, the other band members had insisted on being there. I’d explained why this gig might be more risky than what they were used to, and Daddy Longlegs had spoken for the others when he’d told me, “No way, man! We’re a unit, an organic entity. Scar risks her neck, then we’re gonna be right there with her!”

Organic entity. Right. Normally I don’t like being called “man”, but I was prepared to make an exception in the case of Daddy Longlegs, especially when he told me that he could drive a stick shift.

It was Wednesday night. Banshee had been committed to play at the Palace the night before, and although I’d offered to make up the eight hundred bucks they’d lose by not performing, they wouldn’t even consider it. “It ain’t just the money,” Scar had explained. “We punt this gig with zero notice, word’s gonna get around that we’re unreliable. Then who’s gonna hire us? We gotta think about the future of the band.”

We’ve all got our priorities. Mine was to put this crazy scheme into action as soon as possible, before one of Wilson’s pet cops found out what we were up to and warned him. If that happened, Wilson would be in the wind faster than a trailer park in a tornado.

But Karl had just come back from another scout of the Callaway estate, and he reported that all the guards were still in place, vigilant as ever. If Wilson had split, they wouldn’t have bothered. Probably.

For a staging area, we used a construction site where some new apartments were going up, about a mile from the Callaway place. There were no houses close enough for anybody to be disturbed as the band did its sound check. I was glad to see that the gasoline generator I’d rented was putting out enough juice to power Banshee’s big amps.

I also used the occasion to check my own hearing protection – it wouldn’t do much good for me to get caught up in the Siren’s song once it started. Vampire Karl was immune to it and didn’t need special precautions, but I’d bought a set of those metal and plastic earmuffs that airport mechanics use. They look like old-fashioned stereo headphones but give you about four times as much protection from ambient noise. I watched from twenty feet away as Scar and the boys did a sound check, and I could barely hear a thing.

When they’d finished, I took off the earmuffs and walked back to the truck. In my pocket I had two TracFones I’d bought at Vlad-Mart the day before. I handed one up to Scar. “Here, take this.”