"It's hard for some men to handle it."

"It sure was hard for him. him."

"Isn't the boy his?"

"Yes. But that didn't make no difference to Alvin. He said he couldn't stand to hear him cry. I said, 'Alvin, that's what babies do. They just askin' for somethin' when they cryin', the only way they know.' But he didn't want to hear about all that. I woke up one morning and he was just gone."

"No idea where he went to, huh?"

"I got an idea idea it was to another woman, 'cause that's how he did. He never had a job long as I knew him. He charmed women and he lived off them until he found a new one. I know because he came to me the same way, full of promises and smiles. But I don't know the new girl's name." it was to another woman, 'cause that's how he did. He never had a job long as I knew him. He charmed women and he lived off them until he found a new one. I know because he came to me the same way, full of promises and smiles. But I don't know the new girl's name."

Strange lifted his saucer and saw antennae moving behind the cup. A roach emerged and crawled around the saucer. Strange placed the cup and saucer back down on the table in front of the couch.

"Where would he be staying if he wasn't staying with a woman?" said Strange. "He mention any relatives that you can recall?"

Mary stared at the television set, running without sound. Strange recognized the program, Eye Guess, Eye Guess, had that crippled game show host, wore the thick gla.s.ses. Dennis had liked to look at those shows sometimes in the afternoons, shout the answers out before the contestants had a chance to. Drove their father crazy to see Dennis in his underwear, watching that show. "Man's playing games," he'd say, "while other men go to work." had that crippled game show host, wore the thick gla.s.ses. Dennis had liked to look at those shows sometimes in the afternoons, shout the answers out before the contestants had a chance to. Drove their father crazy to see Dennis in his underwear, watching that show. "Man's playing games," he'd say, "while other men go to work."

"Any relatives?" said Strange.

Mary cleared her throat. "Kenneth."

"Anyone else?"

"Alvin did have a stepbrother, but he's in Leavenworth forever. His mother's dead. The only time he mentioned his father was in hate. He had this other cousin he talked about, lived down off Seventh, worked in a big-man's store down that way. Ronald, Ronnie, somethin' like that. Maybe he can tell you where Alvin's at."

Strange made a mental note of the information.

"If you do run into Alvin," said Mary, "tell him he needs to come see his son."

"I will."

"Alvin ain't right. But I believe that a child can change a man. A boy needs a father in his life to make him whole."

"I agree," said Strange.

"You say Alvin and your brother were friends?"

"Yes," said Strange, the simple lie coming with difficulty from his mouth.

"I hope your brother's at peace with the Lord."

"I better get goin'," said Strange, rising quietly so as not to wake the baby. "Thank you for the coffee."

"Was it all right? You ain't hardly drink any."

"It was fine."

He looked at the clock on her wall. He had time for one more stop before his shift.

"MAMA," SAID DOMINIC Martini to his mother's back. She stood facing the stove in her black dress, socks, and thick black shoes, stirring the contents of a pot set over a gas flame. Martini to his mother's back. She stood facing the stove in her black dress, socks, and thick black shoes, stirring the contents of a pot set over a gas flame.

"What, Dominic?"

"I'm goin' out."

"Who you goin' with, eh?"

"Buzz and Shorty."

"Those guys are b.u.ms," said Angela. "You gonna get in trouble with those two."

"Ma."

"Come here and taste the gravy before you go."

Martini crossed the linoleum kitchen floor. On the way, he hung the key to the garage padlock on a nail driven into the molding. He reached his mother and stood beside her as she dipped a wooden spoon into the mix of chopped tomatoes, tomato paste, pork neck bones, veal shoulders, sausages, garlic, basil, and pepper. She blew on the spoon to cool the sauce and held it up to her son's mouth.

Martini leaned into it, the garlic coming strong from the steaming spoon, bringing a pleasant burn to his nostrils. He tasted the sauce. "It's good. But it needs a little salt."

"I'm gonna add it later!" said Angela with great emotion.

Martini looked down at her with affection. "Awright, Ma."

Her eyes, magnified behind their lenses, blinked one time. "You gonna be home for dinner?"

"Yeah," said Martini. "I'm gonna come home."

He kissed her cool cheek.

TWENTY-SEVEN.

VAUGHN GOT OUT of his car and stood beside it as the Esso man, a fat guy breathing loudly, pumped eight gallons of high-test into the Polara. There was a car behind Vaughn waiting for gas and another, its driver staring at the fat man with impatience, on the far side of the pumps. The fat man removed the gas gun, closed the tank door, and reholstered the nozzle in the cradle of the pump. Vaughn handed him bills and waited for the man to make change from a coin bank he wore on the front of his belt. of his car and stood beside it as the Esso man, a fat guy breathing loudly, pumped eight gallons of high-test into the Polara. There was a car behind Vaughn waiting for gas and another, its driver staring at the fat man with impatience, on the far side of the pumps. The fat man removed the gas gun, closed the tank door, and reholstered the nozzle in the cradle of the pump. Vaughn handed him bills and waited for the man to make change from a coin bank he wore on the front of his belt.

"No help today?" said Vaughn, reading the "Manager" patch on the man's chest, seeing the sweat on his brow and temples.

"My mechanic's off and my pump boy called in sick."

"The young guy who's always here?" Vaughn was picturing him, dark-haired, good-looking kid with the haunted eyes, in his head.

"Yeah, Dominic," said the manager, handing Vaughn his change. "If I find out he ain't ain't sick, his a.s.s is gone." sick, his a.s.s is gone."

"What's his last name?"

"Christ, can't you see I'm busy?"

Vaughn produced his badge case and flipped it open. "His last name."

The manager used a dirty shop rag to wipe at his face. "Last name's Martini. Like Dean Martin's before he changed it."

"Martini was in the military, right?"

"He served."

"He friends with Stewart?"

"Yeah. They're a.s.shole buddies."

Vaughn chewed on his lip as he tossed over the new information: Stewart, Hess, and Martini had all made themselves absent from work on the same day.

"What's Martini drive?" said Vaughn.

"A black Nova," said the manager, moving to the car on the other side of the pump, adding over his shoulder, "but he better not be drivin' it today. If he's doin' anything other than lyin' in a sickbed . . ."

His a.s.s is gone, thought Vaughn, finishing the manager's sentence in his mind as he got back under the wheel of his Polara.

Vaughn drove to the Sixth Precinct station, a half mile down the road, to dig up Martini's address.

DEREK STRANGE WENT through the residential entrance beside the liquor store on H, took the steps two at a time, and reached the second-floor landing. He found the door of Willis's apartment and began to pound on it with his fist. He stopped pounding when he heard heavy footsteps approaching from behind the door. through the residential entrance beside the liquor store on H, took the steps two at a time, and reached the second-floor landing. He found the door of Willis's apartment and began to pound on it with his fist. He stopped pounding when he heard heavy footsteps approaching from behind the door.

"Who is is it?" said Willis, his voice m.u.f.fled, angry, and filled with att.i.tude. it?" said Willis, his voice m.u.f.fled, angry, and filled with att.i.tude.

Strange did not identify himself. He waited for the peephole to darken. When he was certain that Willis was there, his face up against the wood, Strange stepped back and kicked savagely at the area of the doork.n.o.b. The door splintered and gave in.

Strange stepped into the apartment and shut the door behind him. Willis was on his back, one hand holding his jaw. He rolled over, moaned, and got to his knees.

Willis spit on the floor.

"Get your a.s.s up," said Strange.

Willis got to his feet slowly and turned around.

"f.u.c.k you you want?" he said. want?" he said.

Strange stepped in quickly and grabbed ahold of Willis's shirt with his left hand. He threw a short right into Willis's mouth, turning his hip and body into the punch. Willis's head snapped back. Strange felt a burn in his knuckles and, as Willis's head sprang forward, punched him again. Willis's eyes went funny and he lost his legs. Strange took his shirt in both hands and pushed him. Willis tripped backward and landed in a heap on the couch.

Strange drew his .38 from his clip-on. He went to Willis and put the muzzle of the gun to his temple and then moved it to his eye. He pulled back the hammer and locked it in place.

"Who murdered my brother?" said Strange.

Willis's eyes were gla.s.sy and afraid. Close up, Strange could see the bruises and swelling alongside his jaw, and, with his mouth stretched back the way it was, a s.p.a.ce and black blood where a tooth had been. New blood flowed from his upper lip, which Strange had split with the second right.

"Dennis?" said Willis, his voice quavering and high. "I don't know. Dennis was my boy. . . ." don't know. Dennis was my boy. . . ."

Strange believed him. But he pressed the revolver harder to the corner of Willis's eye.

"Where's Jones?" said Strange.

Under the pressure of the gun, Willis tried to shake his head. Some of his blood dripped onto Strange's hand.

"Where?" said Strange, his teeth bared, his hand slick with sweat and tight on the grip of the .38. "I will said Strange, his teeth bared, his hand slick with sweat and tight on the grip of the .38. "I will kill kill you, motherf.u.c.ker, I swear to G.o.d." you, motherf.u.c.ker, I swear to G.o.d."

"He stayin' with our cousin Ronnie. Ronnie Moses."

"Say where that is."

Willis described the approximate location of Moses's apartment. He claimed he didn't know the exact address.

"You got his number?"

Willis pointed weakly to a phone on a stand. Beside the phone was a small book with a marbleized cover.

"You got something to write with?"

"Under them magazines," said Willis, pointing with his chin.

Strange stepped back and holstered the .38. He looked for paper and a pen, found both under some stroke magazines topped with an ashtray. Strange swept the magazines and ashtray to the floor. He went to the address book, got the number on Moses, and wrote it on the paper. He went to the front door, then turned to speak to Willis. Willis was hunched over on the couch, looking at his shoes, too ashamed to look at Strange. Bright red blood colored the front of his white shirt.

"I wasn't here," said Strange.

Willis nodded. Strange went out the door.

AT THE PRECINCT house on Nicholson, Vaughn scored the information he needed: Dominic Martini lived on Longfellow, two blocks away. He got the tag numbers of the Nova, a black-on-black '66, registered in Martini's name, and wrote them in his spiral notebook. Martini's sheet was relatively clean: a couple of minor FIs from his youth and no adult priors. house on Nicholson, Vaughn scored the information he needed: Dominic Martini lived on Longfellow, two blocks away. He got the tag numbers of the Nova, a black-on-black '66, registered in Martini's name, and wrote them in his spiral notebook. Martini's sheet was relatively clean: a couple of minor FIs from his youth and no adult priors.

Vaughn traded his Polara for an unmarked Ford and asked a couple of uniforms smoking cigarettes back by the Harley garage to come along in a squad car. He told them to keep in radio contact.

Vaughn drove slowly past the house on Longfellow, saw curtains drawn in all the windows. Halfway down the block, going west toward Colorado, he turned the Ford into the alley break. The squad car was idling near a garage at the edge of the Martini yard. Parked beyond the cruiser, tight along the property line, sat a green Rambler s.h.i.tbox and, behind it, a red Max Wedge Belvedere.

"Bernadette," said Vaughn, his mouth spread in a canine grin.

He threw the tree up into park and got out of the Ford. He walked to the driver's side of the squad car.

"What's goin' on, Detective?" said the fresh-faced blond kid behind the wheel. His name was Mark White.

"Stay here, White," said Vaughn, studying the drop-down door on the garage, padlocked at the latch. "Anyone comes for that Rambler or the Plymouth, hold him."

Vaughn walked through the backyard and around the side of the house to the porch, where he knocked on the front door. An old Italian woman in thick eyegla.s.ses and a black dress answered his knock.

"Yes?"

"Frank Vaughn, ma'am," he said, smiling, showing her his badge.

"Is my son all right?" said the woman, often a mother's first question when a cop came calling at her door.