looking for cheap labor.
Anybody with a green card. You a citizen? Even better. Hop on the truck and you can spend the day digging a trench for bamboo in Queen Anne.
The crew of half a dozen came in under budget and ahead of schedule. Sugarman got a bonus and was so pleased he bought pizza and beer and treated everybody to a picnic in the park.
When the party broke up, close to midnight, Fox had said he’d lead the three of them to a bus stop where they could get back to home base. But then Petey saw the brunette on Nickerson and fell in love.
I’m not in love, he had told them. I just said she looks like Abby.
Every white filly south of fifty looks like your lost angel, said Fox.
She was well under fifty. Maybe twenty-five. Brunette hair pinned up in the back. Tight green dress. Wobbling a little on two-inch heels.
The angel is drunk, said Strabo.
Who isn’t? asked Petey.
You a stalker now?
I just want to make sure she gets home all right.
This isn’t home. She’s cutting through a parking lot.
If she saw us following her, said Strabo, she’d scream for help.
Why don’t you ask her to make you a double tall cappuccino? says Fox. That’s how you met the bitch, isn’t it?
Don’t call her that.
Whoa. Catch those two on the other side of the street. They’re watching her too. Six o’clock for your lady love.
What does that mean?
Behind her.
Two men, about the same age as the lady in green. The tall one had blond hair, was thin, almost gaunt, and vibrated with nervous energy. He wore a red jacket and blue jeans.
His friend was a head shorter and had dark hair. He walked with his shoulders hunched as if attacked by a wind only he could feel. Both of them were so busy watching the lady in green that they never noticed anyone behind them.
She’s headed onto Fourth, said Fox. Up into Petey’s no-go zone.
Petey stumbled to a stop.
Fine, said Strabo. Let’s round up a bus and ride home. Discretion is the bitter part of valor.
I’m following them. They’re up to no good.
What are you now, the freaking cavalry?
Our Petey is a man of chivalry, said Strabo. A white knight in vanished armor. That calls for a song!
For the love of God, shut up, said Petey. I can’t hear myself think.
The sounds of silence. Har har.
You Philistines! That’s a medieval classic. Part of your heritage.
Yeah, but do you want those creeps across the street to hear you?
Why are they following her? asked Petey.
They like to watch Abby’s ass, said Fox. Same as you.
She’s not Abby. And don’t talk like-Oh crap!
They were on the Fremont Bridge now and the drawbridge was going up.
Why the hell is a boat going by at this time of night? asked Petey.
Probably heading home, said Strabo. Like all sensible people.
They watched the city lights reflecting off the Ship Canal and the bright blue of the bridge.
Look over there, said Strabo.
Off to the right the Aurora Bridge stretched high above them.
Like a long black spider web, said Strabo.
Poetry sucks, said Fox.
Finally the drawbridge dropped into place. They made the long way across.
Where are they? asked Strabo.
Crap, said Fox. Take a look behind the zombies.
I don’t see anyone, said Petey.
Not the movie stars. Your Abby clone.
Slow down, said Strabo. Impatient youngsters!
The woman in green lay on her back behind the zombies, staring up at the sky.
A goner, said Fox.
Where are Lerner and Lowe? asked Strabo.
Who?
The thrill-killers. I don’t want them coming after me.
Gone, said Fox. We should be too.
The woman’s purse lay open on the pavement, leaking its contents, just as her throat had done.
I’m taking the cell phone, said Fox.
No! They can trace us with that, said Strabo. Did the scoundrels liberate her wallet?
Black leather lay in the shadows of a statue. Fox picked it up.
Address book.
Why are we still standing here? asked Petey.
Hell, you’re right. Let’s get up to the woods.
You’re the hero, dear boy, said Strabo. You should have saved her.
It’s them.
Who? asks Fox.
Widmark and Mineo, goddamnit. Across Fremont, in front of the music store.
The two stand in front of Dusty Strings. The tall blond bounces to a beat unrelated to the harp music playing through the speakers. His partner’s hands are stuffed deep into his black raincoat.
You see them? asks Petey.
Yeah, yeah, says Fox. They’re real.
But highly improbable, says Strabo. Returning to the scene of the crime?
You called it for once, old man, says Fox. They’re thrill-killers and this is part of the freaking thrill. They were probably around the corner, watching the cops clean up their mess.
Screw it, says Petey, and starts across the street.
Get back here! Are you nuts?
Sure.
Petey strolls through traffic without even noticing it. Cars honk, but he ignores them.
He stops in front of the movie stars. Fox and Strabo are nowhere in sight. Big help, as usual.
You want something? asks Widmark.
Why’d you do it?
They stare at him. He looks back, poker-faced, though he feels like he’s gonna puke.
Mineo backs up to the wall. Widmark just frowns. Do what?
Kill that girl.
Jesus, says Mineo, wide-eyed.
Widmark grabs Petey by the sleeve and pulls him closer, making a face at the smell. What the hell are you
