Lyle didn't have one. He definitely didn't want the city to know about this. They might condemn the place and boot him out. He hadn't come all the way from Michigan to get kicked out of the first home he'd ever owned.
No, he needed someone discreet who knew his way around construction and could tell him what was wrong and how to fix it. But he'd only been in town ten months and-
'Dear Lord!' Charlie cried, jamming a hand over his nose and mouth. 'What that!'
Lyle didn't have to ask. He gagged as the odor hit him. It lifted him to his feet and sent him staggering toward the stairs. Charlie was right behind him as he pelted up to the first floor and shut the door.
Lyle stood in the kitchen, gasping as he stared at his brother. 'We must be sitting over a sewer line or something.'
Charlie stared back. 'One that run through a graveyard. You ever smell anything stink so bad? Even close?'
Lyle shook his head. 'Never.' He'd never imagined anything could smell that foul. 'What next? A meteor through the roof?'
'Tellin' you, Lyle, the Lord's puttin' us on notice.'
'With a stink bomb? I don't think so.'
Although the odor hadn't reached the kitchen, Lyle didn't want to take any chances. He and Charlie stuffed wet paper towels into the spaces between the door and its molding.
When they'd finished, Lyle went to the fridge and pulled out a Heinie keg can. He could have done with a double deuce of Schlitz M-L right now, but that was way too street.
'You not gettin' bent, are you?' Charlie said.
He handed Charlie another Pepsi. 'When was the last time I got bent?'
'When was the last time you had an earthquake open a bottomless pit under your house?'
'Good point.' He took a long cold gulp from the can and changed the subject. 'By the way, one of the guys with Moonie tried to pull a fast one tonight, and I don't mean Mr. Square Root.'
'The bama-looking Joe?' Charlie said, resuming his pacing.
'Bama-looking Jack, if we're to believe the name he wrote. I knew he was trouble right from the start. Heard me calling you by your real name when we were evacuating and wanted to know why I yelled 'bomb' when the quake hit. I kept an eye on him after that. He didn't miss a trick. He watched your every move, then mine. Good thing I was onto him, otherwise I might have missed seeing him tear a corner off his billet.'
'So that's why you was holding them by the top corner. You always hold them bottom center.' Charlie frowned. 'You think he here to make trouble?'
Lyle shook his head. 'No. I got the impression he didn't even want to be here. I think he was bored and having a little fun with me. He knew exactly what I was doing but he was cool with it. Just sat there and let the show roll.'
Lyle wandered into the waiting room; Charlie followed, saying, 'Maybe he in the game.'
'Not ours. Another game, but don't ask me what.' Lyle had sensed something going on behind that white guy's mild brown eyes; something that said, Don't mess. 'Some game of his own.'
Lyle prided himself on his ability to read people. Nothing psychic about it, no spirits involved, just something he'd been able to do as long as he could remember. A talent he'd honed to a fine edge.
That talent had found the visitor named Jack a hard read. Bland-looking guy: nothing-special clothes, brown hair, mild brown eyes, not handsome, not ugly, just... there. But he'd moved with a secret grace inside a damn near impenetrable shield. The only thing Lyle had sensed about him besides the steer-clear warning was a deep melancholy. So when he'd seen his question-'How is my sister?'-Lyle's instincts shouted, Recently deceased!
If the reaction of the woman with him was any indicator, Lyle had scored a bull's-eye.
'But we came out okay,' Lyle said. 'We may have hooked a future fish or two, and after Moonie finds her long lost bracelet right where I told her it would be, she'll be singing my praises to anyone who'll listen.'
Charlie sat down at the upright piano that had come with the house, and pounded the keys. 'Wish I could play.'
'Take lessons,' Lyle said as he drifted to the front picture window.
He pulled back the curtain just enough to reveal the bullet hole at the center of its crack web. Before filling it with translucent rubber cement, he'd run a pencil through the hole with ease. So small, and yet so deadly. For the thousandth time he wondered-
Movement to his right caught his eye. What? God damn! Someone was out there!
'Hey!' he shouted as a burst of rage drove him toward the front door.
'Whassup?' Charlie said.
'Company!' Lyle yanked open the door and leaped.onto the front porch. 'Hey!' he shouted again as he spotted a dark figure racing away across the lawn.
Lyle sprinted after him. Somewhere in his brain he heard faint cries of Danger! and Bullets! but he ignored them. His blood was up. Good chance this was the banger wannabe who'd done the drive-by, but he wasn't driving now, and he wasn't shooting, he was running, and Lyle wanted a piece of him.
The guy was carrying something. Looked like a big can of some sort. He glanced over his shoulder. Lyle caught a flash of pale skin, then the guy was tossing the can Lyle's way. It didn't go far-sailed maybe half a dozen feet then hit the ground with a metallic sound and rolled. Unburdened, the guy picked up speed and beat Lyle to the curb where he hopped into a car that was already moving before the door closed.
Lyle pulled up at the sidewalk, gasping for air. Out of shape. Charlie came up beside him, breathing hard, but not as hard as big brother.
'See his face?'
'Not enough to recognize. But he's white.'
'Figured that.'
Lyle turned and headed back. 'Let's go see what he dropped.'
He squatted by the object and turned it over. A gasoline can.
'Shit!'
'What he gonna do? Burn a cross?'
'Doubt it.' Whites were in the minority on these streets. Another dark face moving in was a nonevent. 'This is business. He was looking to burn us out.'
He rose and kicked the can, sending it rolling across the grass. The New York psychic game had only so many players. One of them had done this. He just had to find out who.
But how?
4
'All right,' Gia said. 'We're finally alone. Tell me how Ifasen did what he did.'
She'd been dying to know ever since they'd left the psychic's house, but they'd been stuck driving Junie home. Since Karyn and Claude lived on the Lower East Side as well, they'd tagged along. Jack had dropped all three outside Junie's apartment building and now he was ferrying Gia uptown on First Avenue.
Despite the late hour, progress was slow. Gia didn't mind. Time with Jack was never wasted.
'First let's decide where we're going,' Jack said. 'Your place or mine?'
Gia glanced at her watch. 'Mine, I'm afraid. We're getting to the end of the sitter's time frame.'
Vicky, her eight-year-old, still would be up. She rarely failed to cadge extra hours of TV out of her sitters.
Jack sighed dramatically. 'Another celibate night.'
Gia leaned close and nuzzled his ear. 'But it's the last one for the next week. Did you forget that Vicky leaves for camp tomorrow morning?'
Gia had been trying to forget it. She'd hated the week Vicky had been gone last summer-the seven loneliest days of the year-and was dreading her departure tomorrow.
'I did. Forgot completely. I realize you'll miss her terribly, as will I, but I know just the thing to ease the pain of separation.'
Gia smiled and twirled a lock of Jack's hair. 'And whatever would that be?'
'That's my secret until tomorrow night.'
'I can't wait. And speaking of secrets, what's Ifasen's?'
'No-no,' Jack said. 'First you tell me the question you asked. If 'two' was the answer, what was the
