CHAPTER

EIGHT

WE ALL MET AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE THE NEXT morning to make plans. We watched through the big window in the back as the cops scoured the woods for about an hour. A couple of them talked to Tony and told him they had found nothing. They left a short time later.

Carol seemed distracted and distant while we talked about our best options for protecting the children. I understood what she must have been thinking: How the hell did this happen? I’m sending my kids off to New York City with two men I hardly know.

But what other choice did she have? Tony was right. She and the kids were too well known to stay with relatives or friends. Sticking close to Abby and asking for police protection was her best bet at staying alive. At least in New York the kids could blend in with the millions of other people.

By our last cup of coffee, we had formulated our plan. Tony and Abby would drive Carol’s Mercedes away from the house to the motel, with Carol and the kids hidden in the backseat. Abby suggested making it a game for Ruthie and John’s sake, which we all agreed was a good idea. No need to scare the kids to death on the day of their father’s funeral. Tony would drop the two women off at Abby’s apartment to pick up her car and they would proceed to the motel for their stay—however long it took to wrap up Rodney’s affairs. While Tony started out for New York in Carol’s Mercedes with Ruthie and John, I would take the Crown Vic and follow them to New York, hoping to rendezvous near Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, for a caravan into the city.

We’d all spend at least the night at my apartment before taking the kids to Ophelia Cox’s apartment—I didn’t tell them that Ophelia was a drag queen. I wanted to bring up another part of the plan, although I figured it might not go over too well. We were about to leave the table when I popped the question.

“Carol, do you have a wig I could borrow? And a nice dress?”

Tony nearly spit out his coffee. Carol and Abby looked at me in amazement. Ruthie laughed and John sniggered.

“Before you all think I’m crazier than I am, consider the brilliance of this plan. We’re about the same height.” I worded what I wanted to say delicately because I didn’t want to scare the kids. “If I leave in the first car, dressed like Carol, I think she’ll be safer.”

Without missing a beat, Carol said, “I wouldn’t be caught dead in that heap you’re driving.”

“Now wait a minute,” Tony said, “don’t trash Vicky.”

Carol tapped her polished red fingernails on the table. “Oh great, you’ve named your car. I think I’m the only sane one in this house, besides the kids.”

“It’s not the car that matters so much—it’s the illusion of me being you that would distract someone,” I said.

“The whole idea is crazy,” Carol said.

“You saw my work in Manchester. You know how good I look.”

Carol sighed and then lifted her hands in resignation. “Heaven protect me.”

“Well, we should get started,” I said. “Beauty doesn’t happen in a minute.”

As it turned out, Carol had plenty of wigs in her living room–sized closet, and enough dresses to make Cher jealous. She also had enough cosmetics in her bathroom to make any drag queen swoon. Carol threw a few dresses on the bed and gave me permission to do anything I wanted to make them fit. I had to make small slits on both sides, but otherwise the dress I chose was perfect. Fitting into Carol’s shoes, on the other hand, was a bit of a challenge; but if the dress was long enough it didn’t matter too much. I found some open-backs that worked if I didn’t mind my toes being a little cramped.

The transformation took about an hour, so I was the last to walk into the living room, but when I did, the reception was unanimous. The blonde wig, the long-sleeve, calf-length blue dress, and the rudimentary makeup had done the trick.

No, I didn’t look exactly like Carol, if you were looking directly at me, but a sniper at one hundred and fifty yards might be hard pressed to tell the difference. He would have to make a split-second decision whether to fire. And the indecision might be enough for me and the others to get away with our lives.

Tony whistled. Carol actually smiled. She and the kids were huddled under a blanket that would serve to hide them in the backseat. I spun around in a broad circle, swinging the black clutch Carol had given me. The whole scene was surreal, as if we were heading, with suitcases in hand, to some bizarre costume party. Tony and Abby checked the house to make sure it was secure before we walked to the garage.

“Good luck everyone,” I said and considered that we had an eight– to ten–hour drive before reaching the city. “Tony, you have the directions to my apartment?”

Tony nodded. “I was the one who found—well, you know.”

He had driven Rodney to my apartment what seemed like years ago.

I also wanted to make sure we met at a rest stop near Harrisburg. “We’ll plan to meet soon. By the time you drop off your sister and Carol, we’ll both be on approximately the same timetable.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “What have you got cooking up that pretty sleeve?”

“Don’t mix metaphors. I’m making a quick stop before I get on the interstate. Nothing important.”

“I don’t believe you,” Tony said, raising an eyebrow. “Stay safe.”

“Always.”

I watched them get into the Mercedes and then I squeezed into the Crown Vic. Carol’s dress was a bit tight on me. Tony waved and pushed the remote garage door opener. It slid open and I backed out into the circular driveway. The day was sunny and mild for a change. I parked the car in the driveway and waited for Tony to back out the Mercedes. I planned to turn right at the gate and then circle back. Tony would turn left after I pulled out onto the road.

When both cars were out and the garage door was secured, I started down the lane toward the gate. My heart raced as I neared the wrought-iron metal. What if the sniper lay in waiting? I hoped lightning wouldn’t strike twice, but I couldn’t be sure.

Tony hit the button for the gate and it swung open. I searched the trees for any sign of movement, but it was like looking into the ocean for a fish. There was nothing to see but tree trunks, naked branches, and evergreens.

I gunned the Crown Vic and turned right, squealing the tires along the way. I ducked as low as I could to stay out of possible gunfire, but nothing happened. Soon, I was five hundred feet or more down the road, well beyond the gate. In the rearview mirror, the Mercedes adopted the same mode of escape, only going the other direction. Tony punched the accelerator and the car roared off toward town. I drove a country mile, then turned around and whizzed past the property. The gate was closed and all was well.

No one knew I was headed to Ralston’s.

I drove the same route we had taken the day before. I pushed the hell out of Vicky and arrived in the parking lot in about forty-five minutes. I parked so the car’s plates were out of camera range. I checked my makeup in the visor mirror and decided I was presentable enough, certainly not gorgeous. On the other hand, I didn’t want to look too beautiful at a shooting range. My lipstick was smeared a bit. I had swiped one of Carol’s and put it in the purse. I reapplied and then got out of the car. The shoes were a dead giveaway. I hoped the yokel behind the desk would be so oblivious he wouldn’t notice. My hands lacked makeup—another problem. With so much wrong, the guy behind the counter would have to be a total idiot not to notice.

I adjusted my dress and walked to the door. It buzzed open and I stepped inside. The man behind the counter was not the man Tony and I had seen the day before. He was younger, good looking, and wore the same logo shirt, but without the RM initials. He was an early morning shift employee.

He looked at me and smiled. Then he winked. He knew I was a man and it didn’t bother him one bit. Considering the fast drag I came up with, I wasn’t surprised. Like Carol in the Crown Vic, I wouldn’t have been caught dead in New York in the outfit I was wearing.

“Can I help you?” he asked. I could tell he was trying to control his laughter.

I shot him a beat-down stare and flipped the curls on my wig. “I’d like to see you come up with something better in an hour’s time.” That shut him up. “I need to rent a pistol for practice. That okay with you?”

He got a little more serious and said, “We don’t ask for anything from our customers except state issued ID. What kind of gun are you looking for?”

“Glock. Nine millimeter.”

“We’ve got several. Give me a few minutes.” He started for the cage to look at the rental guns. As he walked away, I could have sworn he said under his breath, “Must have been a hell of a party. Sorry I wasn’t invited.”

I needed less than a minute. As he fiddled with the lock, I slipped my hand over the counter where the log-in book had been yesterday and my fingers landed on the cover. I gave it a quick tug and it popped into my left hand. I lifted it and looked. It was the same book Tony and I had pored over. The cutie had disappeared behind a wall. I hiked up my skirt, secured the book between my panty hose and stomach, and walked out the door.

I ran to the car, wrestled the book out, threw it on the seat, and started the ignition. I hightailed it out of the lot. Several cars passed me going the other direction as I sped down the same road I had taken to get there. I kept looking in the rearview mirror to see if the door to Ralston’s had opened, but it hadn’t. Soon, the highway curved and the building disappeared from sight.

Cutie was probably looking at the videotape now—and calling the police.

The next time I saw Tony he was sitting on the hood of the Mercedes outside my apartment. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and I was hungry as hell. The kids were asleep under the blanket in the back of the car. We had missed each other in Harrisburg and proceeded on our respective ways. I changed clothes during a pit stop in Pennsylvania. Fortunately, no one was in the lot when I pulled in so I was able to slip out of the dress and wash the makeup off my face.

“I’m dying for a beer,” Tony said, as I lit up a cigarette.

“Maybe if we work on it, we can both rid ourselves of our respective vices.” I looked at my watch.

It was getting too late to go to Han’s for a meal, so I suggested Tony go park the car in a garage on Forty-Fourth Street and I’d dig out a can of soup—or something that was at least nutritious from my small store of canned food.

I reached into the car and tugged on John’s shoulder. “Time to get up, sleepyhead.”

John’s eyes fluttered open and then closed. Ruthie didn’t stir.

I looked at Tony. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say? Something cute like ‘Time to get up, sleepyhead?’”

Tony laughed. “You need some brushing up on your parenting skills.”

“Never had any.” I opened the back door of the sedan and lifted Ruthie out of the seat. John sprang awake protectively and started to swing at my arms, but stopped when he saw it was me.

“Don’t worry, champ,” I said. “You’re at your new home.” I put Ruthie under my left arm like a bag of potatoes and lifted my right arm like a model on The Price Is Right. “All this can be yours.” Ruthie was unimpressed, but John’s eyes widened when he stepped out on the street and looked north and east toward New York’s towering skyscrapers. Tony got the luggage out of the trunk.

“Wow,” John said.

I opened the door to my apartment. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

The kids had been composed in their home in Virginia, but they must have thought my apartment was a playground. I’d never seen a brother and sister so happy. Then, I remembered the whips and leather accessories I’d attached to my bedroom wall. I had collected a few here and there over the year; it reminded me of my apartment in Boston that had been emptied by the police during their investigation of the Combat Zone murders. The nice warm smell of cowhide brought an earthy charm to lonely, cold New York City. And although I really hadn’t had much use for the objects on the wall, I figured one day I would have to emerge from my monastic cavern.

The kids ran to my semi-reassembled collection of phonograph records piled on the floor. They pulled out a few albums and then ran to my bookcase. John stuck his head in my bedroom and said, “Wow.” That seemed to be his word of the day.

“You have whips on the walls,” he said. “Do you have a horse? Dad used to take us riding.”

“Why don’t you have a seat on the couch and read a book,” Tony said before I could say something smart. He glanced at the volumes on the shelves and then looked at me. “On second thought—don’t you have a television?”

“Not me. Give me a good book any day.”

“Yeah, well, I’m going to park the Mercedes in a garage farther away—too obvious on the street with the Virginia plates. What about Vicky?”

“Vicky’ll be all right on the street until eight tomorrow morning. We’ll have to move her then. But we’ll talk about that later.” I was thinking of a good time to bring up Ophelia. The Virginia plates on Vicky didn’t work in our favor either. A killer who knew where I lived would make the connection that the kids were with me. Another reason to pass the kids to Ophelia.

“Okay, you two, what do you want to eat?” I asked after Tony left.

I opened my small kitchen cabinets and looked inside. There were a few cans of soup, a couple of tins of tuna fish, and some ramen noodles. Nothing too appetizing. I hadn’t realized how much I depended on Han’s for meals.

John shook his head like he wasn’t hungry and Ruthie asked, “What have you got?”

When I told her she shook her head, too.

“We ate at McDonald’s about sunset,” John said. “It was fun. I liked the Big Mac.”

“You’ve never eaten there before?”

“No,” Ruthie said. “Mom and Dad wouldn’t let us.”

I was beginning to put together the big picture. Pious mom and dad, who both hit the sauce pretty hard, among other questionable habits, kept the kiddies pure and wholesome, apparently so they would have a clear path to heaven. New York was going to be an eye-opening experience for them.

“Well, amuse yourselves while I make some soup. I’d take you to the restaurant where I work, but it’s too late. Great Chinese food.”

“Wow, I’d love Chinese food,” John said.

“Let me guess, you’ve never had it.”

They both nodded.

The only books with pictures I had were a couple of old encyclopedia yearbooks I’d found on the street. I gave them to the kids while I made the soup. I was finishing up when Tony knocked on the door.

“My god,” he said. “It’s twenty dollars a night to park the car. Highway robbery.” He held up a blue receipt ticket.

“That’s one of the cheaper spots,” I said. “But, don’t worry, I’m loaded. Remember? At least for the moment.”

“Oh, yeah.” He looked at the kids sprawled out on the couch. “What do we do now? Play poker?”

“You’re the one with the parenting skills.”

“It’s just that your apartment is so . . . cozy.”

I clapped my hands and Ruthie and John looked at me like trained dogs. “Since you don’t want to eat, it’s time for bed. Ruthie, you’re going to sleep on the couch. John, you’re going to bunk on the floor—we’ll pull the cushions off the chairs to make it comfortable. We’re all going to pretend we’re camping. But let’s pretend we’re in the mountains instead of New York and we have to watch out for lions and tigers and bears. Tony and I will be in there with the door open in case you get scared.”

John huffed and threw his book down on the couch. “There aren’t any lions and tigers and bears in New York.”

“Depends on what you’re looking for,” I said. Tony scowled. “And, besides, there are wild animals in New York City right in Central Park.”

“Really?” John asked.

“Really. And if you’re good and obey your uncle Cody like you should, you might get to see them.”

The kids put away the books and started to get ready for bed.

“One at a time in the bathroom,” I said. “Ruthie, you first.”

In a half hour, everyone was ready to turn in. The kids were nestled under the blankets. I grabbed an old bedspread I had in my closet and stretched it over the chairs. It made a nifty tent for John, and was exactly the effect I was after. It didn’t take long before they were both asleep.

Tony and I finished off the soup and crawled into bed, both of us tired from the long drive. He lay next to me, his arms crossed over his chest like a corpse. I was in my bathrobe. I had given him a pair of sweatpants to get into, although the leg bands stopped about two inches above his ankles. I thought he looked cute, particularly in the way the fabric bunched around his package.

“You’re not so bad with the kids,” he said. “Nice job.”

“Maybe I do have it in me,” I said. “I’ve never thought of being a dad—my experience with my parents wasn’t so good.” I turned on my side and stroked his arm. “Not many people have asked about my family—not even Stephen Cross. Once, a long time ago, a man in New York City cared enough . . . do you want to know?”

It looked to me like Tony nodded, but his head might have been lolling on the verge of sleep.

“You might as well know now instead of later.”

He turned his head toward me.

“My parents kicked me out of the house ten days after I turned fifteen. My dad was, to put it bluntly, a drunk. He claimed he was disabled, and he was, but it was hard drinking that led to his health problems. We went from fairly good times in Westchester to living in a trailer outside of Danbury.

“He was angry at me and at my mother and spent most of his time coping with a depression made worse by the alcohol. He couldn’t make a living anymore. He was a washed-up insurance salesman. My mother had to hold the house together, so she pretty much accepted his rage. When I told them I was gay, he exploded. He kicked me out of the house with nothing but the clothes on my back. My mother stood by. Her spirit had been crushed by our miserable lives.”

Tony patted my arm. “Horrible. My family was so different.”

“I don’t tell many people this because the truth isn’t pretty. I have enough baggage to deal with without getting sad or disgusted looks from so-called friends. That’s why I turned to drugs and other diversions. I was wound tight. No one wanted to listen and, frankly, I didn’t want to tell.”

Tony edged closer to me. “Go on.”

“On day eleven after my fifteenth birthday, I was in Times Square. I’d hitchhiked all night and slept under a bridge for a couple of hours. That morning, I hustled in a porn theater on Forty-Second Street. Oddly enough, he was a businessman from Westchester. At the Pussycat Theater. I got twenty bucks for fifteen minutes’ work. Not bad for a starving kid.

“I ate a steak for lunch and the rest is hustler history.”

Tony stared at me. “How did you do it?” He lowered his gaze. I knew he regretted the question.

“Come again?”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult. I meant how did you survive?”

I turned on my back and settled into the pillow. Note to landlord: the ceiling needs painting. “Believe it or not, there were men and women living in the city who were in worse shape. Bums, beggars, and winos huddled in doorways or subway exits, without a dime to their names and no roof over their heads. I counted myself lucky. At least I could make a living.”

“But hustlers wear out,” Tony said.

“I know all too well. The charms of the street don’t last long. Sex strangled me, but kept me alive. I worked as long as I could until I found other ways to make money. Drugs. Dealing to friends and strangers. Odd jobs.”

Tony propped himself up on his elbow. “How did you dig yourself out of it?”

“Something clicked in my head one day. It wasn’t like I suddenly regretted everything I’d done. I wanted to do something different; I guess make more of my life. It was the oddest sensation—feeling like I might have more to live for than being a washed-up, drugged-out hustler.

“The miracle didn’t happen overnight. I hung around Times Square for a while until I got the flu and ended up at a home for wayward boys on the Lower East Side. An ex-Catholic priest took me in and became my mentor and friend. He was the one who introduced me to the great writers and dramatists.”

The books I’d left behind in Boston when I’d been forced to run appeared in my mind’s eye. Volumes of Shakespeare, Marlowe, Tennessee Williams, and William Inge. Of all the belongings I lost in Boston, my books meant the most to me. Many times I had teared up thinking about that loss.

“For two years, I wrote, studied, and learned all I could until money ran out for the home and it closed.” Anxiety pierced my chest. “I fell off the wagon. Pretty soon, I was back on the street.”

Tony yawned.

“Am I boring you?”

“Not at all. I’m just tired from the drive.”

“Well, I’ll change the subject. History is depressing. I’ve got something to show you that’ll perk you up.” I pulled the Ralston’s logbook from under my pillow. I had placed it there when Tony was in the bathroom.

His eyes widened. “You hot shit. How did you get this? Like I need to ask.”

“I used my feminine wiles.”

“But why?”

“A fortune-teller in Boston once told me I had the gift of prophecy. I can’t say she was exactly on target, but I do trust my gut. I think this book is important and I think we may have overlooked something.”

As he leafed through the pages, I said, “And one other thing.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not the gay question again.”

“No, I think we confirmed the answer to that. I want the kids to spend their time here with a dear friend of mine.”

Tony looked puzzled. “Say again?”

“This apartment is too dangerous. If you can find me, a killer can find me, too. And, as you know, someone who didn’t want me involved in this in the first place already knows where I work. I think it’s safer for the kids to stay with Ophelia.”

“Okay.”

Tony handed the book to me and started to turn over, but stopped short when I said, “He’s a former drag prostitute and heroin addict—and he has AIDS.”

He lurched up on both elbows. “Are you crazy? Carol will have a fit. She’d never allow her children to be with—”

I stared at him and his face turned crimson under the velvety brown.

“With what? A drag queen? A gay transvestite? A hustler? An ex-addict? A leper?”

Tony sighed and slumped against his pillow. “Cody, I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. I know everybody has a history, but . . . ”

My body was growing frosty under my robe. The temperature in the room had dropped to an icy level. “I disagree. It’s a great idea and there’s no finer person in New York City than Ophelia Cox.”

“Ophelia Cox?” He shook his head. “You’re kidding me, right? Maybe we’d better talk about this in the morning.”

“Yeah, maybe, but I assure you I’m not kidding.”

I got out of bed and switched off the overhead light. I crawled back in and Tony and I turned away from each other. An iceberg that could sink the QE2 was between us.

Another long night lay ahead.

The kids ate bagels and cream cheese and drank orange juice I’d purchased at the Korean deli at the end of the block. I’d moved Vicky into the garage as everyone was getting ready and stopped by the deli on the way home. Tony and I sat on the couch eating cereal and arguing quietly. He was convinced the whole idea of sending Ruthie and John to stay with Ophelia was a huge mistake. I was getting irritated with him and during a couple of points in our discussion I had to hold myself back. His arguments seemed ignorant and off base, particularly for a gay man who should know better, but then he didn’t know Ophelia like I did. I had been avoiding telling Tony everything about Ophelia because I wasn’t sure what his reaction would be, but I knew in my gut that sending the kids there was the right thing to do, not the least of which would be for their safety.

I told him Ophelia was no longer doing drag, turning tricks, or injecting heroin. I reiterated a fact he knew, but some people still couldn’t wrap their heads around. AIDS could not be spread by kissing or casual contact. I was sure Robert would love the kids. It would take his mind off his medical troubles. And if he had to work at Club Leo, Tony or I could babysit at the apartment until he got home. I wasn’t sure how long Ruthie and John would be with us, but I had a feeling their stay might drag on until Carol decided to move away from Virginia or take another extended vacation.

After breakfast, Tony picked up the phone and called his sister. She and Carol were getting ready to leave for the funeral home. She told Tony that she was fine, but whispered that Carol was a mess. She then put Carol on the phone and the kids told her excitedly about their night camping out in the wilds of New York City. John seemed happy and content once the phone call had ended, but Ruthie sobbed a little when she hung up. John and Tony tried to comfort her without much luck. I picked up a photo book of the city and pointed out the places we might visit. She was fine by the time we finished looking at the pictures.

“Okay, where do you want Uncle Tony to take you today?” I asked.

He shot me a look that would turn frosting sour. “Uncle Tony? Don’t we have some work we need to do?”

“What work? In case you didn’t notice there are no leads we have to chase. Taking care of our children is our most important task.”

Tony smirked. “What idea is cooking in that little brain of yours?”

“I’m going to call the good friend we’ve talked about ad nauseam and see if he will agree to my little plan—I need to check in on him anyway. And, I have to go to Han’s and see when Norm wants me back at my delicious job. It might be this afternoon.”

“Aren’t you rich?”

“Yes, but material wealth is transitory. It’s a pity, isn’t it? It’s emotional riches that I crave.” I leaned down and whispered in his ear, “And what happens if Carol decides she wants the money back? She might claim that Rodney wasn’t in his right mind. I wouldn’t rule out a big lawsuit. And then where would I be? Up to my Playtex Living Gloves in dirty dishwater.”

“You’re not giving up on this Ophelia thing are you?”

“No.”

“I want to see the wild animals in Central Park,” John said.

I turned to him. He had cream cheese spread over his upper lip like a white mustache.

“There you go,” I said. “It’s settled. Off to see the animals.” I opened my wallet and handed Tony forty bucks. “Buy them popcorn and lunch.” I lifted the roach motels I’d placed under the kitchen sink and found an extra set of keys I’d buried there. I handed them to Tony.

He took them like he was handling radioactive isotopes. “Thanks so much, Uncle Des.”

I patted him on the back. “Keep a close eye on the kids. Carol and Uncle Des are depending on you—and don’t lose those keys. They’re the only extra set I have.”

We got the kids ready and off for the park. I had no idea being a father could be so much work.

The day was cool, but not cold. Tony holstered his gun under his jacket. I followed them down to Times Square, enough distance to make sure they weren’t being tailed and then headed back to the apartment. I called Ophelia hoping to get an answer, but the machine kicked on. I looked at my watch. It was about ten thirty. Ophelia probably wasn’t up yet.

Although Virginia was a nice change from my usual city crawls, I missed New York and wanted to get outside. My claustrophobic apartment was unsuited for relaxing at home—unless it was dark or rainy and I wanted to settle in. And there were no Central Park views through my basement windows. Taking a trip to Ophelia’s was a much better option than sitting around the house. The smoggy New York air would do me good.

I hadn’t felt the need to pack the Smith & Wesson .357 in a year, but today I reconsidered. Another gun I’d bought on the cheap at a Times Square pawnshop was gaining favor as my new favorite. I dug them both out from under my bed and decided on the six-inch IMI Desert Eagle. It was lighter than my other gun. Both were unloaded. The shells were on the top shelf of my bedroom closet.

I put on my leather shoulder holster and jacket, gave a quick glance through my windows, and then opened the door. Rodney’s murder came rushing back to me and I shivered. The possibilities for getting murdered in New York were endless. How many rooftops, alleys, and cars could a sniper take advantage of? Something else bothered me as well. Tony and I didn’t have one strong lead. Murdering Rodney Jessup was like assassinating a political figure—any wacko among the millions out there was suspect. We had to catch a break, otherwise we would be glorified babysitters until Carol picked up the kids or something more tragic happened. The suspicion nagged at me that the solution to Rodney’s murder might be simple if we just knew what to look for.

I glanced over my shoulder as I closed the door. I didn’t like living my life this way. I’d gotten used to a certain sense of tranquility after the Combat Zone murders. I put the key in my pocket and turned toward the street. Fortunately, I was able to get to the sidewalk, and then to the subway, unscathed. I breathed in the New York City air, that strange mix of exhaust fumes, sewer steam, roasted peanuts, and, depending on which way the wind was blowing, watery smells from the Hudson and East Rivers.

I arrived at Ophelia’s apartment in the Lower East Side about thirty minutes later and rang the Martin/Cox buzzer. A sleepy voice crackled through the intercom.

Robert buzzed me in and I took the creaky elevator to the fifth floor. He opened the door and peeked over the chain lock. Seeing me, he let me in. He was dressed in a long, filmy woman’s robe, rather like a peignoir, something Liz Taylor or Loretta Young would have worn in the comfort of their homes. His head was as slick as a cue ball after having shaved off all his hair. That look combined with the flowing robe made him look like a bald-headed exotic bird.

His apartment was nice. It faced south and east, so the morning sun warmed the room with its yellow slanted rays. The furniture was okay, certainly nothing fancy. The rooms were clean and sparse and arranged artfully; Zen in their own way.

I sat on the green couch, noting that it could easily fit two kids for sleeping. “How have you been?” I asked.

“All right.” His voice was low and gravelly. He sounded lethargic and depressed.

I took out my cigarettes, but he stopped me with a wave of his hand.

“Please don’t,” he said. “I get enough smoke at the club. I think it’s making me sick.”

I couldn’t argue with that, so I put them back in my pocket.

“I’m losing a lot of weight,” he said and then thrust out his arms.

His arms were beginning to take on an emaciated look, mostly bone and thin flesh. “Are you strong enough to work?”

“Yes, but it’s a struggle. Most days I’m okay. I just get tired.” He looked at me and I felt the specter of death staring at me from the wan face.

“I think you should quit. The job’s not good for you.”

He laughed and his teeth showed white and skull-like, against his tight lips. “What am I going to live on? My good looks?” Tears formed in his sunken eyes. “I wish I could change the past, but I can’t. Now I have to live with this.”

“I can lend you what you need.”

He leaned forward in his chair and stared at me. “There’s a new drug out there, but it’s not even approved by the FDA. I heard about it on the street. It’s expensive. Someone said it’s a thousand dollars a pill.”

I was so shocked I didn’t know what to say. I wished for the good old days when we were comparing makeup tips and laughing about tricks. Those days were gone. “That has to be a rumor,” I said and looked out the window toward the roof across the street.

“Do you know how many friends have dropped me, left my life completely because of this disease? I’ve been called stupid, irresponsible, and a disgrace because I contracted this nightmare. One of them even told me he wished I’d die and get it over with. Many of them wonder how I could have allowed myself to get AIDS when we’ve known about it for fifteen years. Those people don’t understand anything about addiction.”

I was dying for a cigarette. I fidgeted with my belt buckle. “Get as many pills as you need. I’ll pay for them.”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Yes, you can. I’m your friend—and besides, I’d like you to consider a favor.”

He looked at me, puzzled, wondering what strings were attached. I filled him in on the entire story of the Combat Zone murders and then brought him up to date on everything that had transpired since Rodney Jessup had showed up outside my apartment. His eyes shone a little brighter by the time I had finished the story.

“Do you think you’re up to it?” I asked. “I don’t want you to exhaust yourself. Tony can help out, too.”

“Do you think they’ll accept me?” Robert asked, apparently without thinking about his condition.

“Ruthie and John are excited about anything new in their lives. Outside of the church and some vacation travel, they’ve experienced very little. I know they would love it.”

He thought for a moment and then said, “I have my good days and my bad days. Mostly, I’m getting by. Maybe the new drugs will help, but, in the meantime, I can’t mope around the apartment. I’d love to have them here. They’ll keep my mind off my troubles.”

I held up my hand. “Before you say yes, consider that Ruthie and John are in danger and that puts you at risk, even though Tony and I are doing everything in our power to make sure nothing happens to these kids.”

He looked down at his thin arms. “What have I got to lose? When do you want to bring them over?”

“Tonight, after dinner.”

“Good. I’m off today.”

We firmed up our plans and I left. I lit up in the elevator on the way down. A gray-haired woman with two shopping bags gave me the finger as I stepped out in the foyer in a haze of smoke. She pointed to the no smoking sign pasted on the elevator’s back wall. I shrugged and said I was sorry.

I was struck with a sudden case of nerves. I had a bad feeling and I didn’t like it. My gut was turning flip-flops big time. Maybe Tony was right—leaving the kids with Ophelia might be a mistake. But the apartment seemed very secure. People had to be buzzed inside from the lobby unless they had a key. Beyond that, no one would think to look for Ruthie and John here; the assailant would have to know who Martin/Cox was. Ophelia’s building was the tallest on the block. The roof across the street was one floor lower, so a sniper would have a harder time hiding, and an even more difficult shot upward instead of down or across. The arrangement made perfect sense, but I had a nagging feeling the murderer knew every step we were taking.

The killer was waiting for the perfect moment.