"I don't think I'm mentioned in any of the articles," Lee said.

Eddie rolled his eyes. "What, you think I believe only what I read in the paper? If you're not in on the killing of that girl in the Bronx, I'll eat my hat."

Lee raised his hands in surrender. "I don't know, Eddie. Sometimes I think you should be the professional, not me."

Eddie frowned. "What do you mean? I am am a pro!" He turned to flag down the waitress, who was passing with a tray of drinks. "Hiya, darlin'-can we get something here?" a pro!" He turned to flag down the waitress, who was passing with a tray of drinks. "Hiya, darlin'-can we get something here?"

She glanced at him and nodded ever so slightly as she passed.

Lee leaned forward in his seat. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm a professional at what I do, but let me tell you, I wouldn't wanna do what you do, Boss-not for a bundle of change."

As the waitress walked back toward the bar, Eddie's hand casually brushed against her thigh. When she turned to look at him, her eyes narrowed, but Eddie just grinned, showing yellowed, crooked teeth.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but my friend's tongue is about to fall out of his mouth. He's a mean drunk, but he's even meaner sober."

The waitress smiled wearily. "What can I get you?"

Lee sensed the resignation in her voice and in the slump of her shoulders. It was late in her shift, he imagined, and her feet must be hurting. Her mascara was smudged, her sprayed hair was beginning to droop, and her makeup could no longer cover the circles under her eyes.

"I'll take a draft Sam Adams," Lee said.

"Make it two," Eddie responded. "And do you have some chips or something you could bring over?"

"There's nachos or chips with salsa."

"Great. We'll take one of each. Thanks," he said, giving her arm a squeeze. To Lee's surprise, she looked at him warmly, as if grateful for the contact. A lot of men would get into trouble if they tried what Eddie did, but somehow he always seemed to get away with it. Looking at Eddie's round, smiling face, Lee had an uncomfortable thought. The killer will appear unthreatening to his victims until it is too late The killer will appear unthreatening to his victims until it is too late.

When the waitress arrived with their drinks and chips, Eddie pressed a bill into her hand.

"Thanks, sweetheart-keep the change." Lee couldn't see how much it was, but he had seen Eddie tip twenty dollars on a thirty-dollar bar tab.

The waitress looked at the bill in her hand.

"Th-thanks," she said, frowning.

"Don't worry-I'm not hitting on you," Eddie said, popping a chip into his mouth. "Not that you're not very attractive," he added.

"Uh, okay. Thanks." She raised one eyebrow and walked away, shaking her head.

"A habit left over from my Vegas days," Eddie told Lee when she had gone. "You take care of the waitstaff there, they take care of you-y'know?"

"So I've heard. How's that going, by the way?"

Eddie fished a small round wooden token from his jacket pocket and held it between his thumb and forefinger.

"Six months this week. Clean...and poor." He laughed and shoved the token back into his pocket.

"What are you doing for money these days?"

"Oh, this and that. Mostly that." Eddie grinned. "You know, I was one of a rare breed-a gambler who actually made money. I was good, you know-damn good."

"I'm sure you were."

Eddie fingered the cardboard coaster on the table, turning it over between his fingers as if it were a blackjack card. "Those days are behind me. Too bad-I miss it. Any addict who tells you he doesn't miss his addiction is a liar."

"I'll remember that."

"You know, it's kind of too bad we ended up in St. Vincent's."

"Why?"

"Oh, it's just that it would have been cool to be in Bellevue, like the crazy people in the old days, y'know? I mean, we still talk about people ending up in Bellevue, but nobody talks about being crazy enough to end up in St. Vincent's, right?"

Lee smiled for the first time in days. Eddie had that effect on him.

He took a long drink from his pint, the amber liquid cold and bitter on his tongue. It was a familiar and comforting taste, a ritual that took him back through all the years of bars and patio parties, back to his college days, to dorm parties and rugby games, late-night pool halls, back to his sister's first drink in a bar with him there playing the role of protective older brother...but in the end, of course, he had failed to protect her.

"...so then she asks if she should bring her twin sister in on the deal, and I'm like-hey, are you listening to me?"

Eddie leaned forward and waved his hand in front of Lee's face.

Just then the door to the bar swung open, and two of the most singular-looking men Lee had ever seen entered the room.

The taller of the two, an African American with coffee-colored skin, had an elaborate swirl of colorful tattoos on his powerful arms, only partially hidden by the sleeves of his blue flannel shirt, rolled up to the middle of his bulging biceps. His shoulders looked as though they had been stuffed into his denim jacket, and his shiny bald head rose directly from his collarbone, without the intervention of a neck. Everything about him suggested enormous physical strength. His face was dominated by thick, sensual lips, set between wide cheekbones, and his deep-set eyes looked yellow in the dim light. Lee estimated his height to be about six foot seven inches.

His companion was at least a foot shorter. Also powerful of build, his body was like a study in Cubism-all right angles and edges, not so much muscular as square. His palms were broad, with stubby pink fingers thick as sausages. Even his head, with its flattop crew cut, resembled a cube, with a sturdy chin that was as wide as his forehead. His rock scrabble nose twisted in oblique angles, suggesting it had been broken more than once. But his most striking feature was his hair. White-blond, pale as summer wheat, it perfectly matched his eyebrows, set over blue eyes. A tiny gold hoop glinted from his left ear, but unlike his companion, he sported no visible tattoos. He was dressed all in black, creating a dramatic contrast to his pale complexion.

"Hey there, fellows!" Eddie sang out in his high, squeaky voice. "Come join us!" The pair came over to their table and slid into the booth, one on each side. Lee was surprised the taller one could fit at all, his legs were so long. Lee was just over six feet, but sitting next to this guy, he felt like a toy poodle squeezed next to a St. Bernard.

"I'd like you to meet my pals," Eddie said as he signaled the waitress for another round. "This here is Diesel," he continued, indicating the giant sitting next to Lee, "and his buddy is Rhino. That's what we call him. His real name's Rhinehardt, John Rhinehardt, but he likes his nickname, don't you, Rhino?"

John Rhinehardt, a.k.a. Rhino, pursed his lips and gave a small nod of assent. With his stocky build, crooked nose, and small eyes, he did bring to mind an albino rhinoceros.

"Pleased to meet you," said Lee.

Rhino responded with another lip pursing.

"And his buddy is Diesel," Eddie went on, "named on account of-come to think of it, no one knows how you got your nickname."

"I used to drive the eighteen-wheelers," Diesel responded in an elegant baritone. "And I like to drink quite a bit."

"I don't even remember your real name," Eddie admitted.

"No one uses it anymore," Diesel answered. "I prefer Diesel."

"Right," Eddie agreed as the waitress approached their table.

"What'll you have?" she said, standing over them, pen in hand.

"We'll have another round of the same, thanks, sweetheart," Eddie replied. "And add my buddies' drinks to my check."

She turned to Diesel. If she thought he was odd looking, her face didn't betray it. Lee figured that working in a bar a block from Times Square, she had pretty much seen it all.

"What'll it be?" Her voice was ragged with fatigue.

"Two pints of Guinness, please," Diesel said. As she turned to go, he added, "And a Diet Coke for my friend."

The waitress did a double take that consisted of one raised eyebrow; then she turned and headed for the bar.

"What's the idea of ordering a Diet Coke?" Eddie demanded.

In response, Rhino patted what appeared to be a rock-hard stomach.

"He's always calorie counting," Diesel said with a disgusted snort. "Oh, well, looks like I'll have to do the drinking for both of us."

"Bet you'll never guess what these guys do for a living?" Eddie chirped.

Break kneecaps? Lee wanted to answer, but he said nothing. Lee wanted to answer, but he said nothing.

"Tell 'em, boys." Eddie leaned back in the red leatherette booth, enjoying himself hugely.

"We are currently working as hospital orderlies," said Diesel. Evidently he was the talkative one.

"Oh," said Lee, not sure what he was supposed to make of that information.

"But you didn't tell him the best part!" Eddie said. He leaned across the table toward Lee, and Lee could smell his tobacco-stained teeth. "These boys work at Bellevue Bellevue!" He pronounced the word as though he were announcing the discovery of the Holy Grail. "So I figure they can get the lowdown on all sorts of nutcases-maybe your guy, for instance."

"Wait a minute," Lee interrupted. "That would be illegal and and unethical, violating doctor-patient privilege." unethical, violating doctor-patient privilege."

"But these guys ain't docs," Eddie protested.

"This guy is probably flying under the radar," Lee said. "Not in treatment, probably not in the system at all. Even if he is, the chances of him coming through Bellevue-"

"Are roughly one in one hundred and forty-six thousand, if he lives in Manhattan," Diesel said solemnly. When Lee stared at him, he leaned back and folded his powerful hands in front of him. "I enjoy statistics. It's kind of a hobby."

"Diesel's a college graduate," Eddie said proudly. "Somewhere in Michigan-?"

"Michigan State," Diesel replied. "Magna cum laude."

Lee guessed that Eddie knew both of them through Gamblers Anonymous, but he wasn't about to ask. Eddie was very casual about the whole notion of his anonymity, and would tell anyone that he was attending meetings-whether they asked or not-but Lee didn't want to compromise the privacy of Eddie's friends.

"Look, isn't there something we can do to help?" Eddie asked.

Lee looked around the bar, with its comfortable low lighting, the softly glowing yellow lamps casting shadows on the walls. The bar was filling up with theatergoers, all in a festive mood. It seemed odd, sitting here with Eddie and his two powerful-looking friends, that somewhere out there, a predator was ruthlessly stalking and carving up young women.

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe I'll think of something."

Eddie winked. "These guys get around-know what I mean?"

Lee looked at the two companions. Rhino's deep-set blue eyes were azure in the dim light, and his pale skin was a sharp contrast to Diesel's richly hued coffee-colored skin. No doubt about it: singly, they were unusual looking. As a pair, they were striking.

"They used to be homeless," Eddie continued, snapping a chip between his tobacco-stained fingers before popping it into his mouth. "Addicts, both of 'em. Hard to believe now, huh?"

Lee looked at the pair. With their well-muscled bodies and clear eyes, they looked like anything but addicts.

"Methamphetamines," said Diesel. "My drug of choice, when I could get it. And Rhino was addicted to heroin."

Rhino sipped at his soda and looked away.

"So not only do they have connections in the hospital nursing field," Eddie said, "but they also know most of the guys who run the shelters around town-and most of the clients."

"I don't see how that can help us," Lee replied.

Diesel leaned forward. "There is an underclass of people in this city who go places other people don't, who see what other people miss. There are eyes and ears out there that the police have yet to fully appreciate."

"Sort of like the Baker Street Irregulars in the Sherlock Holmes stories-right, Boss?" Eddie said.

Diesel took a sip of beer and wiped his mouth delicately. "We have access to those ears and eyes-what goes on in the dark of night when most people are looking the other way."

"Methamphetamines and heroin, huh?" Lee said. "Those must have been hard ones to kick. Those are both really addictive."

"You can accomplish anything," Diesel said, "if you have the willpower and determination."

Looking at the pair sitting across from him, Lee didn't doubt that he was right. Then, against his own will, the words popped into his head: Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done. But he imagined that if the Slasher's will prevailed, it would not be either as in earth or as in heaven, but as in hell.

Chapter Fifteen

Her breasts were small and round, the skin smooth and white as the inside of a clamshell. The nipples were marbled mother-of-pearl-like faded pink summer roses. He thought he would faint at the sight of them. His head grew light, and a tingling came to his forehead, even as his eyes drank in the sight of them greedily. He felt like a starving man who had been watching a feast through a window all his life, and now that he was here, the table of delicacies spread out before him, his stomach rebelled at the sight of such abundance. Her body was achingly beautiful-and still it was not his to touch, to caress, to possess. Her mouth, marred by lipstick, was a red slash in the middle of the perfect white skin of her face.

He watched her through the crack in the white lace curtains, as her body rose and fell with passion. He felt his own body swell in response. She was his neighbor's daughter, and the space between their bedroom windows was so narrow that he felt as if he could reach out and touch her.

Samuel! Sam-u-el! You will burn in hell if you don't stop that right now!

If only he could make it stop, the sound of his mother's voice, harsh as a crow's, cawing at him, bleating, berating him, until he felt his ears would bleed.

Stop that right now, Samuel! The hand of God Himself will come down and strike you dead, and you'll go straight to hell forever!

He turned his head to avoid the arrows of her eyes, his face hot with shame. Even with his face turned toward the wall, he could feel the heat of her anger on the back of his head. He closed his eyes and waited for her rage to pass, to burn itself out....