healthy complexion of a recently transplanted country girl, perhaps from Lancaster or Shamokin, someone who hadn't been at this long. That glow will certainly fade, Byrne thought. 'Hi.'
'Hi,' Byrne replied.
She looked him up and down, smiled. She was very pretty. 'You are one big guy, fella.'
'All my clothes are big. It works out well.'
She smiled. 'What's your name?' she asked, having to shout over the music. A new dancer was up, a chunky Latina in a strawberry-red teddy and maroon pumps. She danced to an old-school song by the Gap Band.
'Denny.'
She nodded, as if he had just given her a tip on her taxes. 'My name's Lucky. Nice to meet you, Denny.'
She said Denny with an emphasis that told Byrne she knew it was not his real name, and, at the same time, that she didn't care. Nobody at the Tick Tock had a real name.
'Nice to meet you,' Byrne replied.
'Whatcha up to tonight?'
'Actually, I'm looking for an old friend of mine,' Byrne said. 'He used to come here all the time.'
'Oh yeah? What's his name?'
'His name is Julian Matisse. Know him?'
'Julian? Yeah, I know him.'
'Know where I can find him?'
'Yeah, sure,' she said. 'I can take you right to him.'
'Right now?'
The girl looked around the room. 'Gimme a minute.'
'Sure.'
Lucky made her way across the room, over to where Byrne figured the offices were. He caught Victoria's eye and gave her a nod. After a few minutes, Lucky returned. She had her purse over her shoulder.
'Ready to go?' she asked.
'Sure.'
'I generally don't provide such services for free, ya know,' she said with a wink. 'Gal's gotta make a living.'
Byrne reached into his pocket. He pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, tore it in half. He handed one half to Lucky. He didn't have to explain. She grabbed the half, smiled and took him by the hand, said: 'Told ya I was Lucky.'
As they headed to the door, Byrne caught Victoria's eye again. He held up five fingers.
They walked a block to a crumbling corner building, the type of structure that was known in Philly as a Father, Son and Holy Ghost-a three-story row house. Some called it a trinity. Lights burned in a few of the windows. They walked down the side street and around back. They entered the row house and walked up the rickety stairs. The pain in Byrne's back and legs was excruciating.
At the top of the stairs, Lucky pushed open the door, entered. Byrne followed.
The apartment was crackhead-filthy. Stacks of newspapers and old magazines lined the corners. It smelled like rotting dog food. A broken pipe in the bathroom or kitchen had left a damp, briny odor throughout the space, warping the old linoleum, decaying the baseboards. There were half a dozen scented candles burning throughout, but they did little to mask the stench. From somewhere nearby a rap song played.
They walked to the front room.
'He's in the bedroom,' Lucky said.
Byrne turned toward the door to which she was pointing. He glanced back, saw the infinitesimal tic on the girl's face, heard the creak of the floorboard, caught the flickering reflection in the window overlooking the street.
As far as he could tell, there was just one coming.
Byrne timed the impact, silently counting down as the heavy footsteps approached. He sidestepped at the last second. The guy was big, broad- shouldered, young. He slammed into the plaster. When he recovered, he turned, dazed, came at Byrne again. Byrne planted his feet and brought the cane up and out with all his strength. It caught the guy in the throat. A clot of blood and mucus flew out of his mouth. The guy tried to regain his balance. Byrne hit him again, this time low, just below the knee. He screamed once, then folded to the floor, scrambling to get something out of his waistband. It was a Buck knife in a canvas sheath. Byrne stepped on the man's hand with one foot, kicked the knife across the room with the other.
The man was not Julian Matisse. It had been a setup, a classic ambush. Byrne had all but known that it would be, but if word just happened to spread that a guy named Denny was looking for someone, and that you fucked with him at your own peril, it might make the rest of the night and the next few days move a little more smoothly.
Byrne looked at the man on the floor. He was clutching his throat, gasping for air. Byrne turned to the girl. She was shaking, backing slowly toward the door.
'He… he made me do it,' she said. 'He hurts me.' She pushed up her sleeves, revealing black-and-blue bruises on her arms.
Byrne had been in this business a long time, and he knew who was telling the truth and who wasn't. Lucky was just a kid, not a day over twenty. Guys like this guy preyed on girls like her all the time. Byrne rolled the guy over, reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, took his driver's license. His name was Gregory Wahl. Byrne rummaged his other pockets and found a thick roll of cash in a rubber band-maybe a grand. He peeled off a hundred, pocketed it, then tossed the money to the girl.
'You're… fuckin'… dead,' Wahl managed.
Byrne pulled up his own shirt, revealing the butt of the Glock. 'We can end this right now if you like, Greg.'
Wahl continued to stare at him, but the threat was gone from his face.
'No? Don't want to play anymore? Didn't think so. Look at the floor,' Byrne said. The man complied. Byrne turned his attention to the girl. 'Leave town. Tonight.'
Lucky looked side-to-side, unable to move. She had noticed the gun, too. Byrne saw that the roll of cash had already been spirited away. 'What?'
'Run.'
Fear flashed in her eyes. 'But if I do, how do I know you won't-'
'This is a one-time-only offer, Lucky. Good for another five seconds.'
She ran. Amazing what women can do in high heels when they have to, Byrne thought. In a few seconds he heard her footsteps on the stairs. Then he heard the back door slam.
Byrne knelt down. For the moment, the adrenaline negated any pain he may have felt in his back and legs. He grabbed Wahl by the hair and pulled his head up. 'If I ever see you again this will seem like a good time. In fact, if I even hear about a businessman getting rolled down here in the next few years I'm going to assume it was you.' Byrne held the driver's license in front of his face. 'I'm going to take this with me as a memento of our special time together.'
He stood up, grabbed his cane. He drew his weapon. 'I'm going to look around. You are not going to move an inch. Hear me?'
Wahl remained defiantly silent. Byrne took the Glock, put the barrel against the man's right knee. 'You like hospital food, Greg?'
'Okay, okay.'
Byrne walked across the front room, edged open the doors to the bathroom and bedroom. The windows were wide open in the bedroom. Someone had been in there. A cigarette burned in an ashtray. But now the room was empty. BYRNE RETURNED TO the Tick Tock. Victoria was standing near the ladies' room, chewing on a fingernail. He made his way over. The music was pounding.
'What happened?' Victoria asked.
'Nothing,' Byrne said. 'Let's go.'
'Did you find him?'
'No,' he said.
Victoria gave him the eye. 'Something happened. Tell me, Kevin.'
Byrne took her by the hand. He led her toward the door.
