on Tad ’ s face when Rooster was suddenly standing in his living room was one that he would never forget. Rooster pushed his reps as he relived the moment.
The first shot had entered just below the sternum and it shook Tad all over. Rooster gave him the rest of a five-pack to the torso, taking the trouble to line up the front blade through the rear ramp sight between each shot. He saw Tad shimmy and fall forward, blood all over his tightie whities. He considered putting the last one in his dome, but stopped himself. Tad already had X s for eyes by that point, and Rooster figured he should keep an extra, without taking the time to reload, in case he ran into a looky-loo in the hall on his way out. He hadn ’ t, though, he hadn ’ t seen a single person, and now he regretted saving the round. Oh, well. His chest burned. His arms quivered. He racked the bar, ran a hand through his recently cropped hair, and breathed. He sat up and looked across the gym to the front desk.
Behr and Paul parked out front of a large corrugated-metal and cinder-block building that took up a city block. The place housed several businesses, a self-storage facility and a car wash among them.
“When she said the guy was the night-owl workout type it rang a bell,” Behr said, his words whitening the dark, frosty air. “There ’ s only a couple of places open all night,” he went on, entering the building, climbing the stairs ahead of Paul. “And this place is pretty special.”
Behr swung the door open and cleared the doorframe, allowing Paul his first look at Sebo ’ s.
“Je-sus,” Paul uttered softly. He felt like a high-order extraterrestrial discovering a strange savage Earth custom. Flesh, barely covered by tank tops, writhed on purple-covered workout equipment under harsh lights. There were guttural sounds and clanging, as would accompany a dog fight in a blacksmith ’ s shop. The air was bleachy and fetid, the humidity high enough to grow ferns. Paul ’ s eyes adjusted and he saw the place was merely a gym, full of muscled men applying themselves to force/resistance training.
They walked a small distance over black rubber flooring to a reception desk, where they faced a squat man with a neck tattoo. He worked a battery of screaming blenders, mixing pink and brown protein liquids. Another man, deeply tanned, in workout clothes, waited for his beverage.
“Membership cards?” the squat man said loudly over the blenders, revealing a hint of an Irish accent.
“We ’ re not members,” Behr answered.
“Single workout pass is six dollars,” the deskman said, his voice dropping as he cut a blender and began pouring a drink for the tanned lifter.
“We ’ re not here to work out,” Behr tried to explain.
“Hell, it ’ s not a fooking bathhouse — ”
“Close enough,” Behr snarled back.
The man cut another blender and a bit of quiet crept over the counter.
“What do you cunts want, then?” The man folded his arms, trying to maximize his biceps, which were fairly maximal. Still, in Behr ’ s shadow, the man seemed shrunken. Paul wondered how handy Behr was with his fists or if he was merely a size-reliant big man.
“Us cunts” — Behr leaned forward over the counter — “want to know if you have a member here who goes by the name Rooster.”
“You ’ re the cops?” The man wilted a bit, rubbing his neck tattoo. It was a spider or tarantula on a web, as far as Paul could tell. All black. Badly done. There was a matching one on the man ’ s elbow, too.
“You want the police? Because that ’ s where we ’ re headed if you don ’ t stay with me. Rooster. He ’ s supposed to work out nights,” Behr said, his voice flat and uncompromising. He put his hands down on the counter with a meaty thud. Several of his fingers were bent and gnarled, his punching knuckles raised like acorns under the skin. The gym monkey crumbled some more at the sight of them. He finished pouring the drink and handed it to the tanned man, who hurried away.
“Look, I ’ m usually not on nights. Do you have his proper name?” The man rubbed his neck tattoo as if it would come off.
Behr nodded once at the new demeanor and backed off the counter. “No. He ’ s not tall. Red hair, longish. Wiry.”
“I dunno. You can check the member profiles. But they ’ re just names and addresses. We ’ re going to photo cards next month, but — ”
“That ’ s all right. Mind if we look around?”
The man waved a hand toward the gym, giving them the run of it, relieved to be done with them.
“Some attitude on that guy,” Paul said as they stepped onto the floor.
“You run into all kinds in my business. The ones having bad days are real generous about sharing ’ em with you.”
They stopped near a rack of barbells and scanned the area. No one fit the description they ’ d been given. And then their eyes landed on someone familiar. Coincidence stopped them cold.
“Hey, that ’ s — ” Behr began. He was looking at a bearded guy wearing baggy Umbro shorts and a knee brace, grinding out a set on the leg press.
“Bill Finnegan,” Paul said. It was the soccer coach. Behr bee-lined for him, but Paul was with him stride for stride. They were making their way across the gym, picking their way through equipment and burly men, when Finnegan saw them. He slammed the weight home, hopped off the leg press, and half ran for a door marked Exit on the far side of the dumbbell area.
They went after him, picking up their pace to a fast walk. When Finnegan hit the door and disappeared down the stairwell, they broke into a run. Paul considered himself fleet of foot, he ’ d been a runner for close to twenty years, so he was stunned to see Behr burn by him and reach the door first. Behr took the stairs, which were divided into switchbacks every sixth step, a full landing at a time. Paul covered them in threes and hoped he didn ’ t break an ankle. He reached the ground floor in time to see Behr cuff Finnegan in the back of the neck and send him sprawling into the door to the street. The coach ’ s shoulder and elbow echoed off the hollow metal door.
“Ah,” Finnegan said in pain, but managed to keep his feet.
Behr caught him by the collar and spun him around. Finnegan raised his hands, closed his eyes, and turned his face away. Paul was relieved he didn ’ t resist and that Behr pulled up short of beating him. He was now satisfied with the answer to his earlier question of the detective ’ s physical proficiency.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Behr asked, speaking the question in Paul ’ s swirling mind.
“Nothing. Nothing.” Finnegan breathed, high and reedy.
“Why ’ re you running?” Behr snarled at him.
“I…Nothing. Just working out. And I…”
Paul stepped forward and spoke in as even a voice as he could manage. “Hey. Bill. Hey. What ’ s going on?”
Behr let go of him and the soccer coach shifted around uncomfortably. “Hi, Paul. I come here. To stay in shape.”
“Uh-huh.” Behr appraised him.
“It has nothing to do with…anything. Really.”
“Bullshit. Give,” Behr barked. He put a hand forward and held the coach by his throat. He shifted his weight back as if he would punch.
“I ’ m gay. All right? I ’ m a gay man.” Silence fell in the stairwell for a moment as they absorbed the statement. Apparently, Finnegan felt compelled to go on. “But I never touched a kid. Not in my life.” That seemed to be all there was to the bombshell.
“Jesus, Bill, what the hell are you running for?”
“I coach youth soccer, Paul. This isn ’ t New York, you know? People around here wouldn ’ t like it. Goddamnit!” he shouted, his last word reverberating through the stairwell in frustration and humiliation. Paul looked to Behr and shook his head. Behr stepped back.
“I don ’ t want to lose my job.”
“Nobody ’ s gonna find out, Bill,” Paul said with reassurance. The coach ’ s breathing began to calm and he nodded and went out the door into the night. Paul and Behr walked back up to the gym and looked around for anybody fitting Rooster ’ s description, but no one was even close.
Rooster drove too fast and checked his mirrors every three seconds. Those guys at the desk had been cops, clear as day, and they ’ d been looking for him. He didn ’ t know how the hell they didn ’ t find him in the locker room, either. He took his chance when they were jawing with the desk guy. He grabbed a ten-pound plate and
