business, which sometimes entailed locating kidnap victims, and Livingston was familiar with the territory. Livingston had to play dumb, even though Nudger knew he was anything but that. A mutually protective charade was required here, and Livingston was good at charades. Practice, practice.
'We have the same interests here,' Nudger told him.
'Sure we do. But I don't want you mucking up things.'
'Speaking of muck,' Nudger said, 'consider the swamp.'
Livingston grinned and shook his head knowingly. 'I'm privy to certain facts that you don't know about, Nudger.'
'Some things I do know. I know that people who know where too many bodies are buried sometimes join the group.'
Livingston smoothed a lapel with one of his little pawlike hands and gave that some thought.
'Do you have any kids?' Nudger asked.
Livingston shook his head no.
'Then it's hard for you to understand the way a father feels about his only daughter, how he might react out of gut feeling rather than logic. Powerful instincts are at work there. Primal emotions. A bereaved father might do just about anything.'
'Do you have any kids, Nudger?'
'No.'
Livingston snorted, almost a sharp bark. He scooted his chair back a foot or so on its plastic carpet protector and bent down out of sight. Nudger heard a drawer slide open.
Within a few seconds Livingston resurfaced above desktop level. He was holding a shiny brass key. He tossed it lightly so that it landed flat, with a dull sound like a dropped coin that hasn't flipped, on the desk corner where Nudger could reach it.
'I'll get this back to you,' Nudger said, picking up the key and slipping it into a shirt pocket.
'I never gave anything to you,' Livingston told him. 'But if I would happen to give you something, I'd make sure I had a duplicate so you wouldn't have to return it. So with luck I wouldn't have to see you again, even if what I didn't give you got you into trouble you couldn't get out of.' He didn't so much as begin to smile as he said that.
'Confusing but protective,' Nudger said, 'like good legalese. I admire the way you cover your tracks, even if it's at someone else's expense.'
Livingston smiled his narrow and nasty smile. 'That's the secret of life, Nudger, someone else's expense.'
Nudger had to agree. He'd paid enough to know it was true.
XXX
After leaving Livingston's lair, Nudger drove directly to Hollister's apartment on Rue St. Francois. He parked the red subcompact a block beyond the tan brick-and-stucco building and walked back along the narrow sidewalk. He wasn't sure there was a need for such caution, but he knew it might not be wise to have his car seen parked in front of Hollister's apartment. There were unfriendly players in this game.
As he walked toward the sunlit tan building, he adopted a casual air and glanced around. No one seemed to be watching the place, but that was hardly reassuring. It only meant that someone who knew how to conduct a stakeout might be watching. The few people Nudger passed on the sidewalk seemed genuinely uninterested in him, but since he had come to New Orleans, little had been as it seemed. As he approached Hollister's door, he stuck his hand into his pocket and withdrew the key. He didn't want to stand on the stoop wrestling with the lock any longer than was necessary.
The key slipped into the lock smoothly, with a well- oiled, soft ratchety sound; Livingston knew where to have good duplicates made. Efficient little bastard.
Nudger turned the key and was about to rotate the doorknob and enter when something slammed hard into the door near his left knee. He bounded to the side, whirling, a teenager again, weightless and agile. Scared.
'Sorry,' she said, scooping up the red rubber ball that had struck the door and lodged in the bushes near the stoop. 'Didn't mean to spook you.'
She was about twelve, a scrawny black girl with immense pigtails that appeared to draw back the skin on the forehead and make her wide, wise eyes seem even larger. When she got older, if she put on some weight, she would be pretty, maybe beautiful.
Nudger managed to smile at her, mentally brushing her aside, and reached again for the doorknob.
'He ain't home,' the girl said. Blatantly curious, she was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring up at Nudger.
'How do you know he's not home?' Nudger asked.
'I knocked a little while ago. My ball bounced in his courtyard and I wanted to get permission to go get it. Nobody came to the door, so I went back and climbed the fence and got the ball anyways.' She tossed the ball up behind and over her shoulder with her right hand, snatched it from the air at eye level with her left. Grinned. Nifty. 'I'm Midge,' she said. 'I'm a neighbor. Who're you?'
'I'm Mr. Hollister's cousin. My name's Nudger. What does Midge stand for?'
'Just stands for Midge, is all. What's Nudger stand for?'
'Truth, justice, even the American way.'
'Huh? Oh, that's a lot.'
'Gets to be a burden sometimes. Thanks for the information, Midge. Bye.'
'You goin' inside anyway?'
'Sure. Cousin Willy won't mind. I'm supposed to meet him here soon.'
'I don't guess he's been back since last night,' Midge said. She turned, bounced the ball off the sidewalk, and started across the street.
'Wait a minute!' Nudger said. Too sharply. He was concerned he'd frightened the girl. But she stepped back up onto the curb and then came over to him, looking up at him with those born-wise, unafraid eyes. No walkover, this kid. 'Did you see Mr. Hollister here last night?' he asked.
'Yeah. Said I did.'
'About what time?'
'I dunno. I was in bed. My dad came home and got in an argument with my mom over headaches or somethin'. Woke me up. When I wake up late at night I like to stay awake. I look out the window sometimes 'cause my bed's right by it. I seen Mr. Hollister go into his apartment.'
'Was he alone?'
'Sure. It was late. He was probably goin' to bed.'
'Then you didn't see him leave.'
'Nope.' Whap! went the ball on the sidewalk, as she bounced it and effortlessly caught it. She was young, full of fire and fizz, getting impatient with this conversation.
'Was your window open?'
Whap! 'Sure. It was hot last night.'
'Did you hear any noise coming from here, Midge?'
'Nope.'
'Think hard. Voices? Anything?'
'I always think hard. There was some comin' an' goin', maybe. Commotion. Real late. Or it could be I dreamed it. Or maybe it was Mom and Dad and they made up. They do that sometimes.'
A rust-primed old Chevy driven by a black man in sunglasses turned down Rue St. Francois, slowed as it passed Nudger and the girl, then drove on.
Whap!
Nudger hoped that, whatever the source or genuineness of last night's noise, Mom and Dad had become friends again. He liked Midge and figured she deserved some regular sleep and family unity. The noise she thought
