flashy theater and restaurant district. The residential housing consisted of a mix of renovated brownstones and yuppie high-rises, the occasional quaint little bistro tucked just below street level.
But this wasn’t my time.
And these, I realized, weren’t my clothes. A pencil-thin wool skirt clung to my hips and tight-fitting sweater hugged my padded bra. The nylons on my legs felt scratchy and uncomfortable. I felt my thigh and realized I was wearing a garter belt.
“Hey, there, girly, you lost?” A pasty-faced man approached in a soiled suit and battered fedora. He reeked of cheap alcohol. “Or maybe you’re lookin’ for a date?”
“No,” I said, stepping backward. “Not interested.”
“How do you know, if you don’t try a sample?” He moved quickly, backing me against the dirty wall before I knew what was happening.
“Back off or I’ll scream!” I warned.
“Scream away. Nobody’s gonna care about our little business.”
“I will.”
The voice was deep and clipped and familiar. I looked up to find Jack Shepard in fedora and slate gray suit, looming behind the man who’d accosted me.
“Feel that, shitbird?” he growled. “It’s the business end of my .45, jammed between your third and fourth rib. You still interested in doing business here?”
“No, mister. I don’t want no trouble. Pretty girl here smiled at me and I guess I misunderstood—”
When the drunk was gone, stumbling quickly up the sidewalk, I straightened my sweater. “Yuck. I did not smile at him.”
“I know.”
“So why are you scowling at me then?”
“Because”—Jack flicked the safety on his weapon, then slipped it back into the shoulder holster hidden beneath his double-breasted suit jacket—“you shouldn’t have left the alley, that’s why. I put you there for safekeeping until I came back.”
“Back? Where did you go?”
“Come on.”
As Jack took my elbow and hustled me down the sidewalk, I realized why I was here. It was Jack’s ongoing missing persons case. He was close to solving it now, and he wanted me with him—presumably to clue me in on something important in my current case. What, I had no clue.
“I hate this neighborhood,” Jack groused as we strode swiftly along. “One of the worst slums in the city and the Men’s Night Court ten blocks away.”
“Men’s Night Court?”
“Eight in the evening till one in the morning, the Seventh-District Magistrate sees an unending column of drunks, panhandlers, pickpockets, wife beaters, and brawlers. Every petty offender arrested in Manhattan and the Bronx is brought to this neighborhood for a hearing—but, of course, you know all about hearings, don’t you, sister?”
“What’s that supposed to imply? You know I wasn’t guilty.”
Jack’s gunmetal gray eyes flashed with amusement. “Just trying to keep your fight up, baby. You’re going to need it tonight, remember that.”
“Fine. Now how about enlightening me where we’re going and why?”
“Just follow my lead.”
We dodged traffic on Tenth and continued heading west, toward the freight yards, garages, and docks. At the very end of the street, the island of Manhattan dropped off into the Hudson River—and I was hoping Jack would slow his bullet pace before we hit water. The sun was sinking just below the horizon line now. It looked like a big orange ball, threatening to smash New Jersey under its fiery weight.
Jack pulled me up short between two buildings and silently pointed into the shadowy tunnel between them.
“Not another alley!”
“Let’s go.”
In the dim light, I heard a noise like a man whispering, “Pssst.”
Jack grabbed my arm and pulled me behind him. He moved carefully forward, dipping his hand into his double breasted jacket and once again drawing his .45.
“Put your gat away, it’s just me,” rasped a young man. He was skinny with short raven hair, dark eyes, and a prominent nose.
Jack holstered his gun again and made a quick deal with the young man he called “Beak,” handing him a five-dollar bill and receiving two folded brown garments and matching hats.
“It’s grand theft what you’re charging me,” Jack complained.
“So call the cops,” said the young man with a highpitched cackle. Then he disappeared, seemingly melting back into the alleyway’s shadows.
“Here,” Jack said, handing me one of the folded garments.
I unfurled it. “Overalls?” I saw a logo on the pocket. “SWIFTY DELIVERY.”
“Put them on.”
Jack gave me his back as he walked to a fire escape’s ladder, peeled off his jacket, and hung it over a low rung. His muscled shoulders and chest were nicely outlined by the tight-fitting leather holster. He slipped it off and began to strip down to his undershirt. When he went for his belt, I protested.
“You’re changing? Right in front of me?”
Jack glanced around, raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one looking. And didn’t I tell you to change, too?”
“Right here? In the alley?”
“Stop bucking for the Miss Priss award, will you? It’s dark enough back here to develop crime-scene photos.” He turned around and continued disrobing. “Now move. We don’t have much time.”
I frantically searched for some sort of private Idaho, found a discarded fridge, and put it between me and Jack. Then I unzipped the skirt, pulled off the sweater, stepped into the overalls, and zipped them up. They were too big so I folded the cuffs at the bottom of the legs and the edges of the sleeves.
When I stepped out, I found Jack waiting, arms crossed, his back to me to make sure I got my privacy, his front to the alley entrance to make sure no one surprised us.
“Okay,” I said.
He turned and took me in, couldn’t stop a small smile from lightening his usual granite profile. “You look cute as a button. Here.”
I stuffed my hair into the hat and followed him out of the alley.
“Jack?” I asked nervously. “Do you still have your gat—er, uh, gun?”
“Baby, I don’t take a piss—excuse me,
We reached a warehouse and Jack pulled me into yet another alley.
“This alley thing of yours is becoming a real obsession.”
“Quiet, baby. We’re going in.”
“Don’t you want to brief me?” I whispered.
He glanced at his watch. “It’s time for the shift change. Follow my lead.”
Again with the lead! I thought, but kept my lips zipped. Jack never looked more serious. He’d unzipped the top half of his overalls, and I knew why. He wanted easy access to the gun strapped under his arm. This, of course, meant that we were heading into life-threatening danger.
“Put your hands in your pockets and keep your head down.”
I looked down at my hands and realized someone had given me a manicure with bright-red nail enamel. I shoved my painted fingers into the overall’s pockets.
“Keep your mouth shut and your ears open. Got it?”
“Gee, Jack,” I couldn’t resist whispering, “you really know how to show a girl a good time.”
“You want a good time, baby, my offer’s a standing one. Let me take you on the town, get us a room at a
