“I’d have to ask.”

“Do it,” I told him.

“If it can’t be done-”

“Then the original is okay, but I would like more if possible.”

“Same guarantees?”

“Yes.”

“Can I reach you?”

“I’ll call same time tomorrow.”

“Fine. And listen, about that problem my associate had with your-”

“We had no problem,” I told him.

“I just wanted to say-”

“We had no problem,” I repeated in a deliberate voice.

“Great. Tomorrow, then?”

“You got it,” I said, and hung up. Dopes.

I walked away from the pay phone like it was diseased. You never know. Blumberg once told me that the law has to get a specific warrant to tap a phone and then it’s only good for a certain period of time, and even then they can’t be listening to every conversation, just the guy they got the warrant to bug. That’s all bullshit. Blumberg also told me that it’s illegal for a private citizen to tap a phone, but if he does any evidence he gets is admissible in court. What a joke-between the D.E.A. and the Special Narcotics Unit they probably have half the pay phones in this city tapped, but anyone who wants to buy dope can get it by the goddamned carload.

A gull swept by low over the East River, screeching his anger at the humans who kept snatching pieces of his river to build luxury apartments. I turned the phone conversation with James over in my mind and nothing really computed… I didn’t know if I would ever need him and his faggot friend again. My mind was wrestling with dancing images, but Goldor kept cropping up every fifth frame or so. Wearing his mask. I was way past choices.

I turned away from the river and Flood fell into step beside me, matching me stride for stride. After a block or so she put her hand on my arm, gently. As we walked I slipped my hand around her waist, moved it down and patted her hip. “Behave, okay?” She nodded that she would.

The Volvo was where the Mole said it would be. My key fit, a clean set of papers was in the glove compartment. I got onto the East Side Drive, getting the feel of the car and heading for the bridge and Route 95. The idea was to drive north of Scarsdale, then drop down back into it. We had plenty of time but I wasn’t anxious for visibility and we couldn’t hit Goldor much before nine if the alibi was to work. I told Flood we would have a picnic first-as soon as we got into Westchester County I changed jackets with her and sent her inside a deli to buy some cold cuts and soda and cigarettes.

With my jacket covering her, Flood looked like a rich-bitch teenager playing some silly game, the kind you would never notice in the suburbs. When she got back I drove to what was left of an old industrial park in Port Chester and we sat in the front seat and nibbled at the food. We weren’t too hungry. I lit a smoke, leaned back against the seat cushion.

“Is this our last chance?” Flood wanted to know.

“No, but it may be our last good chance. Wilson can’t hide forever, but we don’t have forever either.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know.”

“That I have to go back…”

“To Japan, am I right?”

“You know that,” Flood said.

“Yeah…”

“Burke, do you want-?”

“Right now-right now I want Wilson.”

“Yes.”

“That’s enough for now.”

“I understand,” she said, then asked, “Burke, are you afraid?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not.”

“I know.” And I did.

“You know what that means?”

“It means you’re still a virgin,” I snapped at her.

And Flood slid over next to me and just held my hand until I saw it was time to go.

THE VOLVO HAD been the right choice for this run. It was old and dull and anonymous-looking, all right, but it still fit into the neighborhood somehow. Kind of quiet and substantial looking, an appropriate second car for the kind of mouth-breathers who wouldn’t live in the city but still sucked their living from it.

I knew exactly where to find Goldor’s house-I hadn’t wanted to cruise around the area drawing attention to us so I’d checked with the street maps in the City Planning Office. But the maps hadn’t told me he lived on top of a short hill or that the semicircular driveway in front of the house would be lit up like a Christmas tree. My watch said 8:47, no time to modify anything. The Mole was already in place, getting ready to do his work-now I had to do mine. I’d gone over the thing with Flood a dozen times and I’d just have to rely on her to act right.

I pulled the Volvo into the drive, rolled just past the front door so it was on the driveway’s downward slope, cut the lights, and killed the ignition. There was no reaction from the house to our approach. I opened the car door, walked around to the passenger side, and held the door for Flood in case someone was watching. The front door was set back inside a small archway with a heavy brass knocker in the shape of a lion’s face in the middle and a small button ringed with a halo of light on the right panel. Which one? I opted for the lion’s face. I banged twice-firm but not too insistent. No sound came from behind the door.

I felt Flood vibrating next to me but I counted to ten and rapped twice more-still nothing. I shrugged my shoulders like I’d come back another time and turned as if to go back to the Volvo, giving Flood a look when she opened her mouth to say something. I started back through the archway, reaching my hand back out to Flood to make sure she came along, and the door opened-Goldor was standing there. I could tell it was him from the shape of his body and his bald head but I couldn’t make out his face in the light that was pouring out strong and harsh from behind him. He could see us, though-the setup was no accident. Flood stepped aside to let me talk.

“Mr. Goldor?”

“And who are you?”

His hands were clasped behind him so that he was standing in an almost military posture-chest out, stomach in, shoulders back. He was using an old bodybuilder’s trick to make himself look even more massive-squeezing his hands together behind his back to pump the blood through his arms and into his chest and neck. His voice was rich and full-friendly and confident, masterful, relaxed. Whatever else we’d done, we sure as hell hadn’t spooked him.

I knew I’d only get one shot with this guy. “My name is Burke, sir. And this is Debbie. I have something I would like to discuss with you, a matter of great importance, and I didn’t want to speak on the phone.”

No response from Goldor, he just held his pose, letting me go on. “So I took the liberty of calling on you like this. I apologize if it’s an inconvenient time and, if it is, I’d appreciate the opportunity of an appointment at your earliest pleasure.”

Goldor stepped just slightly to the side, still holding himself erect. He nodded his bald head toward us. “I see. Please come in, Mr. Burke. And you too, uh… Debbie.”

I stepped through the door with Flood at my side. Goldor bent his head forward again to indicate that we should walk ahead of him, and we stepped onto a thick carpet down a short hall. We heard “In there,” and followed his directions. I saw we were coming into a long rectangle of a room, but it was too dark to see much else and I stumbled down a couple of short steps-a sunken room of some kind. Flood followed, stepping lightly without a misfire. Goldor came right behind us and turned some kind of rheostat on the wall-a soft orange light came from the corners of the long room and I could see a black leather chair with bare wooden arms and some other blocks of furniture. The walls were hung with heavy tapestries. We turned to face Goldor, who said, “Are you a police officer, Mr. Burke?”

“No, sir,” I said earnestly.

“You work for them, perhaps?” still in that soft voice.

“No. I work for myself.”