'That's a two.'
The kid shook his head. He stepped in front of the box, obscuring Byrne's view. 'Nunh-unh. These is thorobed dogs.'
'Thorobeds?'
'Yeah.'
'You sure?'
'Most def.'
'What kind are they exactly?'
'They Philadelphia pit bulls.'
Byrne had to smile. 'Is that right?'
'No doubt,' the kid said.
'I've never heard of that breed.'
'They the best, man. They do they bidness outside, they guard the house, they don't eat that much.' The kid smiled. Killer charm. He was headed all the way in one direction or the other.
Byrne glanced at Victoria. He was starting to soften. Slightly. He tried his best to conceal it.
Byrne slipped the puppy back into the box. He looked at the boys. 'Isn't it a little late for you guys to be out?'
'Late? Nah, man. It's early. We up early. We businessmen.'
'All right,' Byrne said. 'You guys stay out of trouble.' Victoria took his arm as they turned and walked away.
'Don't you want the dog?' the kid asked.
'Not tonight,' Byrne said.
'Forty for you,' the kid said.
'I'll let you know tomorrow.'
'They might be gone tomorrow.'
'Me, too,' Byrne said.
The kid shrugged. And why not?
He had a thousand years to go.
When they reached Victoria's car on Thirteenth Street, they saw a van across the street being vandalized. Three teenaged boys broke the driver's window with a brick, setting off the alarm. One of them reached in, grabbed whatever was on the front seat. It looked like a pair of thirty- five-millimeter cameras. When the kids spotted Byrne and Victoria, they took off down the street. In a second they were gone.
Byrne and Victoria shared a glance, a shake of the head. 'Hang on,' Byrne said. 'I'll be right back.'
He crossed the street, turned 360, making sure he was not being observed, and, after wiping it down with his shirttail, dropped Gregory Wahl's driver's license into the burglarized vehicle.
Victoria Lindstrom lived in a small apartment in the Fishtown section. It was decorated in a very feminine style: French provincial furniture, gauzy scarves on the lamps, floral wallpaper. Everywhere he looked he saw an afghan or a knitted throw. Byrne envisioned many a night when Victoria sat here alone, needles in hand, a glass of Chardonnay at her side. Byrne also noted that, with every light on, it was still dim. All the lamps had low-watt bulbs. He understood.
'Would you like a drink?' she asked.
'Sure.'
She poured him three inches of bourbon, handed him the glass. He sat on the arm of her couch.
'We try again tomorrow night,' Victoria said.
'I really appreciate this, Tori.'
Victoria waved him off. Byrne read a lot in the wave. Victoria had a stake in getting Julian Matisse off the street again. Or, perhaps, off the world.
Byrne gulped half the bourbon. Almost instantly it met the Vicodin in his system and produced a warm glow inside. He had held off drinking alcohol all night for that very reason. He glanced at his watch. It was time to go. He had taken more than enough of Victoria's time.
Victoria walked him to the door.
At the door, she put her arms around his waist, her head on his chest. She had kicked off her shoes and, without them, she seemed small. Byrne had never really realized how petite she was. Her spirit always made her seem larger than life.
After a few moments, she looked up at him, her silver eyes nearly black in the dim light. What began as an affectionate hug and a kiss on the cheek, the parting of two old friends, suddenly became something else. Victoria pulled him close and kissed him deeply. Afterward, they pulled back and looked at each other, not so much out of lust as, perhaps, surprise. Had this always been in them? Had this feeling been simmering just below the surface for fifteen years? The look on Victoria's face told Byrne he wasn't going anywhere.
She smiled as she began to unbutton his shirt.
'What exactly are your intentions here, Miss Lindstrom?' Byrne asked.
'I'll never tell.'
'Yes you will.'
More buttons. 'What makes you think so?'
'I happen to be a very skilled lawman,' Byrne said.
'Is that right?'
'Oh yes.'
'Will you take me into a small room?' She unbuttoned a few more buttons.
'Yes.'
'Will you make me sweat?'
'I'll certainly do my best.'
'Will you make me talk?'
'Oh, there's no question about that. I am a seasoned interrogator. KGB.'
'I see,' Victoria said. 'And what is KGB?'
Byrne held up his cane. 'Kevin Gimp Byrne.'
Victoria laughed as she slid his shirt off, and led him to the bedroom.
Afterward, as they lay in the afterglow, Victoria took one of Byrne's hands in hers. The sun was just beginning to breach the horizon.
Victoria gently kissed his fingertips, one by one. She then took his right forefinger and slowly traced the scars on her face.
Byrne knew that, after all these years, after they had finally made love, what Victoria was doing right then was far more intimate than sex. He had never felt closer to a human being in his life.
He thought about all the stations of her life to which he had been present-the teenaged firebrand, the victim of a horrible attack, the strong, independent woman she had become. He realized that he had long harbored a great and mysterious well of feelings for her, a cache of emotion he had never been able to identify.
When he felt the tears on her face, he knew.
All this time, the feelings had been love.
21
The Marine Unit of the Philadelphia Police Department had been in operation for more than 150 years, its charter having evolved over time from one of assisting the commerce of marine traffic up and down the Delaware and Schuylkill rivers to one of patrol, recovery, and rescue. In the 1950s the unit added diving to its duty roster, and since that time had become one of the elite aquatic divisions in the nation.
Essentially, the Marine Unit was an extension and supplement to the PPD patrol force whose job it was to respond to any and all water-related emergencies, as well as recoveries of persons, property, and evidence from the water.
