Jack shook his head. "Not at night... the wife don't like me going out at night."

He snorted a laugh. "Been there, done that. That's why she's now my ex ex-wife."

They shared a manly heh-heh-heh heh-heh-heh and then came Gerrish's turn at the window. and then came Gerrish's turn at the window.

Jack leaned close to listen in, planning to bet the same horse. Gerrish supposedly knew his ponies, and winning would give Jack a chance to reconnect with him at the payout. But a glance over the bird of paradise on his shoulder gave him a shock. No human being at the window. Some sort of cash register sat there instead.

When did this happen?

He watched in dismay as Gerrish worked the thing like an accountant on an adding machine, then took the ticket that popped out and started to walk away.

"Luck to you," Jack said.

Gerrish didn't turn. "Yeah. Same."

As Gerrish moved off, Jack stepped up to the machine and studied it for a few seconds. He had no idea what to do, and no time to figure it out, so he faked working it, then walked off in the same general direction as Gerrish.

5.

Dawn sat chin deep in the hot tub and stared at Henry.

"You mean you still haven't changed your mind?"

"It's not a matter of changing my mind, miss. It's simply that I have not been able to reach the Master and do not have permission. I would help if I could but I cannot risk it again. I break out in a sweat just thinking about what could have happened."

What was it with this guy? Didn't he have any b.a.l.l.s?

b.a.l.l.s... there was a thought. Henry seemed like totally s.e.xless. She never caught him looking at her. Not once.

What would stiff-and-staid Henry do if she totally came on to him? He looked to be like fifty-like two and a half times her age. But big deal. She'd been living with a pervo twice her age and doing him every night.

She bit back a surge of acid as her stomach tried to hurl. Don't think about that. You've got that perv's baby inside you and the only way you're going to get rid of it is to get out of this place.

She could do Henry. If she could do that perv she could do anyone. And it would only be once. She'd let him think it would be a regular thing, but no way.

How did that phrase go? Quid pro quo? Yeah. She hadn't gotten straight A's at Benedictine Academy without paying attention in Latin cla.s.s.

If she did something for him, he'd have to do something for her if he wanted a replay. But no replay. This time if she got out she would be so not coming back.

Did she dare? She'd feel like such a loser if he turned her down. But she had to risk it. She had this awful feeling that her future depended on it.

She opened her mouth to speak but no words of seduction would come.

Hey. Maybe she could seduce him with money. She had a quarter of a million in cash in her room.

"Henry? What if I paid you for a shopping trip?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What if I totally paid you ten thousand dollars to take me out for an hour?"

He looked offended. "You insult me, miss. I am not not for sale." for sale."

She was about to double the offer but saw in his steely eyes that it would be a waste of time.

Okay. Time to bite the bullet, as it were.

Keeping her chin at water level, she reached behind her and unhooked the top of her bikini. She slipped out of it, releasing the girls, and pushed it under her. Next came the bottom.

Now... the big moment.

She rose to her feet and stood thigh deep in the bubbling water, facing Henry. She glanced down at her girls. The wet mounds glistened in the sunlight streaming through the windows. She could see the nipples rising in the chill room air. Maybe she was a little too thick in the waist, a little too wide in the hips, but she had great skin and she was like totally sure that hers was the best bod Henry had seen in a long, long time. She couldn't see her p.u.b.es right now but knew they looked sort of funny. Pervo Jerry had made her shave. Well, didn't force her, exactly. All he'd had to do was ask and she'd done it-like she'd done other things he'd asked. The hair was growing back now, looking like a three-day stubble.

She'd never asked herself why he'd wanted her bare there. Thought it was just some simple kink. Maybe even a hygiene thing, though he'd never shaved himself.

But knowing what she knew now, it was probably a way to make her look more like a child.

Her gorge rose again but she forced it back.

Focus, Dawnie. Focus.

She looked at Henry and saw that his jaw had totally dropped. The offended look in his eyes had given away to a sort of wonder and awe.

"Like what you see?"

Henry continued to stare in silence, his expression frozen.

She stepped toward him, trying to make her movements languid and s.e.xy, hiding the urgency bubbling inside. If this was going to work, if this was even going to get done, it had to get started soon and end quickly. Before Gilda arrived to make sure Dawn didn't soak beyond her allotted twenty minutes.

She climbed the two steps up to floor level and stopped before him, dripping.

And still Henry said nothing. Maybe he'd been dreaming of s.e.x with an eighteen-year-old. Maybe even younger.

"You got a problem with young stuff, Henry? If not, I'm about to make you a very happy man."

Ugh. That sounded awful. Still... she'd gotten her message across and he hadn't backed off. Hadn't moved toward her either.

Okay... looked like it was going to be all up to her.

She knelt before him and reached for his fly, hoping this wouldn't be too gross.

She felt a bulge behind the fabric as she tugged on the zipper.

Henry didn't move to stop her.

6.

Gerrish had a seat in the clubhouse's reserved section but Jack had a good view of him from his spot. The guy bet on every race. Jack decided to keep his distance. He studied his copy of Post Parade Magazine Post Parade Magazine and made a few mental bets of his own, but lost every single one-even when they were favorites. and made a few mental bets of his own, but lost every single one-even when they were favorites.

He hoped he had better luck bird-d.o.g.g.i.ng Gerrish home.

Jack made it a policy to follow Gerrish to the windows. He often collected wads of cash. Either the guy was dating Tyche on the side or really knew his ponies. After the next-to-last race he skipped the windows and headed for the exits.

Giving him a good lead, Jack followed him to the LIRR Bellerose station. He stayed out of sight until a westbound train pulled in. He waited for Gerrish to board, then hopped on two cars ahead of him. The train was fairly empty, so Jack moved back a car and sat where he could take an occasional peek at his quarry.

Gerrish got out at the Jamaica stop and walked east. With the sun still bright, Jack had no shadows to hide in, so he hopped out and walked behind a trio of chattering Ecuadorians, using them as a shield until they hit the street.

He allowed Gerrish a full block lead. The guy was a fast walker. Maybe these treks back and forth were the only exercise he got, so he made the most of them. A dozen quick blocks on Jamaica Avenue, then a left on Merrick past an old and gloriously ornate building called the Tabernacle of Prayer. Looked like a converted movie theater. Finally he stopped outside a six-story building-a beauty parlor and a Duane Reade drugstore on the first floor, and what looked like apartments above.

He watched Gerrish enter the building. By the time Jack reached the door he was gone. He peeked through the gla.s.s and saw rows of mailboxes. Excellent.

He waited around until an elderly black woman in a matching green jacket and skirt came by, lugging two plastic sacks of groceries. She put them down to take out her key. When she'd unlocked the door, Jack grabbed the handle and held it open for her.

She gave him a suspicious look. "You live here?"

He smiled. "Nah. Just waiting on a friend." He pointed to the bags. "Want help with those?"

"I can handle them."

"Well, at least let me get the other door."

He slipped into the foyer and held the inner door for her. She kept an eye on him, as if expecting him to jump her. She watched until the inner door had closed behind her, then headed for the elevator.

"You're welcome," Jack said.

He checked out the mailboxes, noted that 4D was labeled GERRISH.

Perfect.

He'd return after dark and pay ol' Hughie a visit. Find out if he still had the sword. If sold, he'd find out the name of the buyer. If not, he'd offer to buy it. If Hugh wasn't selling, Jack would take it.

Either way, like it or not, Hugh Gerrish would wake up tomorrow morning as the former owner of that sword.

As Jack stepped out onto the street he glanced back and saw the old woman watching him. He smiled and waved.

7.

"Remember, miss. Only an hour."

"Sure, Henry."

Not.

Doing him had been kind of rough but not totally unbearable. Like maybe if you didn't look up or didn't think about who it was-like make believe it was someone you liked-you could get through. Even get into it maybe. Except Dawn didn't have anyone she really liked in that way-not anymore-so no way she'd been able to get into it.

But she'd gotten through it. That was what counted.

He'd never said a word. Just stood there like a statue through the whole thing. The only good thing-if anything good could be said about it-was that it hadn't taken long at all, like he was a guy who hadn't gotten any in a long time. The only sounds he'd made were some grunts at the end. And when he'd squirted all over her, at least it didn't mess up any clothes. After it was over he'd zipped up while she was still on her knees, turned, and left.

She got a little satisfaction out of seeing his legs wobble as he'd walked out, but otherwise she felt crushed. She'd made a wh.o.r.e of herself for nothing.

So she washed up-crying in the shower-and dressed, and was combing out her wet hair when he'd knocked on her door and said Gilda had left to go shopping. If Dawn wanted to go out, they had a window of two hours, so it had to be now. She'd stuffed her quarter mil in a shoulder bag and headed for the door.

She was surprised at how calm she was feeling about the whole thing. A little dirty, yeah, but it was over and done with now, and considering who she'd been having s.e.x with before this, Henry was like a hot soapy shower.

Yeah, Henry... a total prince. No leering remarks, no familiar touching. Acted like it never happened. He was doing such a convincing job, she could almost make herself believe it hadn't.

Kind of a shame she was going to have to screw him in a totally different way this afternoon.

She'd had him drive her down to SoHo and cruise lower Broadway. Along the way she'd bargained-reasonably, she thought-to define the "hour" on the town as an hour of shopping, transit time not included. He'd reluctantly agreed. But when she tried to convince him to drop her off at one of the boutiques, he totally wouldn't.

"For your well-being-and that of my job-I cannot let you out of my sight."

She gazed out at the shopping bag-carrying throngs crowding the sidewalks and said, "Are they like giving stuff away?"

"It's the dollar, miss. Very cheap these days, which makes visiting the States and shopping here a real bargain."

Mixed among the foreigners-they didn't carry signs saying so but their clothing styles screamed Not from here! Not from here!-were cl.u.s.ters of bridge-and-tunnel folks from the burbs and Jersey.

She didn't care where they came from, as long as there were lots of them. The more the merrier, and the easier it would be to disappear into their ranks.

When Henry pulled into a parking lot, she waited behind the tinted gla.s.s, adjusting her pak chadar pak chadar while he took a ticket from the attendant. She put on her sungla.s.ses and stepped from the car. A quick glance at her reflection in the window confirmed that no one, not even her mother, would recognize her in this getup. while he took a ticket from the attendant. She put on her sungla.s.ses and stepped from the car. A quick glance at her reflection in the window confirmed that no one, not even her mother, would recognize her in this getup.

She led Henry through the crowd, noticing the curious looks from the B-and-T types but not the Euros. She guessed they were more used to seeing covered Islamic women. One scruffy type was totally staring at her-or squinting, rather. With a start she recognized him as the guy with the flyers from Monday.