Dr. Ruth might say it’s all right to think about one person while you make love to another, but my night-to-morning was a long painful do. Face after face kicked me awake, and, by daybreak, I was more uneasy than I’d been the previous night. I understood the dreams about Boots and Melanie; it was Megan’s continued appearance that threw me. I almost surrendered to the living room sofa. But years of Fritos and commercials asking whether I was the type of guy who liked to work with my hands but hated having dirty fingernails made me leery of couching it before noon.

I dressed and thought about checking with Phil for the police report but didn’t want to push him. Hell, I was in no rush myself. Countless shopping malls stretched before me when I finished with The End, and I needed stronger ammunition in my struggle to remain vertical.

As the morning minutes dripped away, upright rapidly became more difficult. I thought about visiting Blackhead, but my arm was pretty sore, making me reluctant to add to the pain. And there would be additional hurt if I caught the slightest hint of his involvement with my beating. Truth was, I didn’t trust myself; it’d be too inviting to beat on him without any hint at all.

The soreness in my arm finally spurred my feet. Revenge wasn’t my favorite motivational tool, but this morning it kept me off the couch. If Blackhead was behind the mugging, there was a chance Jonathan Barrie might be of help.

During the drive to The End I noted my change of focus: I was a lot less interested in Peter Knight than in Emil Porter. I remembered thinking, before my breakfast with Boots, how the past infects the present. Today it was evident how easily the unpleasant present supplants the unpleasant past.

The thought of Boots disturbed me till I shook her out of my mind. Unfortunately, the vacuum gave Melanie room to appear. After a little while, I longed for the days when my emotional problems came one at a time though, I reminded myself, during my days with Megan they had.

The sky halfheartedly threatened snow by the time I parked across the street from the social agency. The same group who’d been on the steps were there again. And no less reluctant to let me by. But now I knew the coin of the realm; it cost me close to half a pack, but my price included taking a good hard look at their faces. I finally got to the door, disappointed. I couldn’t tie any of them in with yesterday’s beating.

The room was louder and busier than the other afternoon. It looked like Hope House would have no trouble calling for that minyan. I quickly ducked into the receptionist’s office and closed the door. I wanted to avoid the neighborhood people. I didn’t know if my guilt reflected a sell-out or embarrassment as to the nature of my concerns. Maybe they were the same thing.

Sally stood alongside the desk, fist on ample hip, glaring. “Why’d you close the door?”

I smiled. “I didn’t want anybody to die of shock when Jonathan breaks up a busy day twice in a row.”

She shifted slightly and rolled the day’s version of spandex against the side of the desk. “Ain’t you a funny customer. You want me to call him, don’t you?”

I nodded. Sally shook her head but made the call.

This time I made it through S.I.’s bikinis twice, plus the first of a three-parter on the Merchant Marines. Changing locales all the time like the M.M. didn’t read like fun; you took your head wherever you went.

Barrie didn’t sound very apologetic when he hurried through the door. “Sorry you had to wait,” he said. “I keep a tight schedule that’s difficult to juggle.” He stopped talking and a frown appeared. “Why was the door closed?” he asked.

I pushed myself off the fake leather couch. “My fault, Mr. Barrie. I got agoraphobia.” Before he took me seriously I added, “I’m joking. I just closed it automatically.” I wondered if Sally would tumble to my wisecrack but she remained silent.

“Just Jonathan.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “I expected you last night,” he said grumpily. “Sorry, I didn’t think to call. I was busy getting knifed and beaten.” I saw Sally draw back and lift her hand toward her mouth.

Jonathan looked at me closely “In The End?”

I nodded. I saw his lips tighten and he turned toward the secretary. “Can you excuse us for a while?” She nodded and left the room, carefully leaving the door open after her. Barrie walked over and closed it.

“You really have a thing about the doors, don’t you?” I asked.

“Not exactly,” he said. “When I first came to Hope House the people who worked here were extraordinarily distant from the community, and that’s putting it politely. Arrogant and elitist is probably closer to the truth. I should have fired the lot of them, but it was my first job in a new career and I didn’t have the nerve.”

“So you took the doors off instead,” I grinned.

“I took the doors off,” he said, still pleased with his strategy. “They fired themselves; it just took a little longer.” He smiled at me. “But not much longer. Sometimes it’s a pain in the ass, but it still works.”

Jonathan walked to the chair behind the desk, rolled it out, and sat. I went back to my seat on the couch.

“You didn’t come here to talk about doors, did you?” he asked.

“No. I’m hoping you’ll help me find out about last night.” I told him what had happened, and described the gang as best I could. I thought I saw a flicker of recognition when I painted Sludge’s picture, but I couldn’t be sure.

“I don’t understand what you plan to do with them,” he said pointedly. “Unless you plan to turn them in?”

“I want to know if it really was random.” “You think it wasn’t?”

“It probably was. But I want to be sure.” I thought for a moment then added, “I’m pissed about it.”

“Of course,” Jonathan nodded, then, abruptly, “Why were you in yesterday asking about Peter Knight?”

He tried to keep his tone conversational, and for the most part did. For the most part. “Today is one beating later,” I said. “Today I’m not really interested in Peter Knight.”

“You’ve visited with Melanie.” He said it easily, without a demand for an answer.

“Let me guess. You knew I was a detective because you had spoken with her about me.” “Don’t flatter yourself,” he answered without malice. “We speak all the time, about most everything. Your name came up.”

I grinned and stood. “Yes, I’m interested in Melanie, but that’s not why I’m here. Can you help me?”

It took him a moment or two to get started but, when he did, he tore into it. We went to his office upstairs where he sat down behind a modern bank of Ma Bell equipment. I listened to short staccato conversations with people whose numbers were dialed automatically. No one asked for his last name.

Despite Barrie’s activity, we were as if in the eye of a storm. The din from downstairs surrounded us; every few minutes, someone charged into the office, usually holding a form. They’d look at Jonathan on the telephone, grumble, and leave. It wasn’t long before I realized that, had I worked at Hope House when Jonathan came on board, I’d have been among those who fired themselves.

At one point I thought he called Melanie; though he never used her name his tone softened and swelled. Finally he rose and shrugged. “I don’t have anyone else to call. One guy was out but he’ll say the same thing as the rest.”

“Which was?” “No surprises.”

Before I could react, Barrie looked at his watch and caught me off-guard. “Why don’t you buy me a drink?”

I owed him. “Sure, where?”

Sully’s had a different vibe than the Wagon Wheel. Butcherblock tables, hanging plants, and the reproduction old-fashioned mahogany bar gave the impression that we’d stepped out of The End. Despite place warp, I knew the stack of expensive bottles contained as much cheap as fancy. A bar is a bar is a bar.

We tucked into a corner booth and gave our order to a thin, blond, bowtied waiter. I looked around the room at the other customers, felt my homophobia stir, and thought of Shakespeare’s catcall. Then I felt disgusted by my three-legged connection to the family of man.

The waiter’s return took me out of my silent self-reproach, and I celebrated with a long pull of my German dark. Jonathan toyed with his Poland Spring and, for another moment, we sat staring at each other.

“Everyone heard the same thing,” he said. “Stranger hostility. Nobody likes it, but it won’t go away. Some of those kids have probably never been out of The End. They’re too afraid. Mugging strangers supports their denial.” He raised his eyebrows. “Sorry if that wasn’t what you were looking for.”

“It’s what I expected.”

“What were you looking for?”

“Does it matter?” I lit a cigarette and swallowed more beer. I liked Barrie, but he had something personal working.

He reached into a pocket, brought out a pack of Gaulois, and lit one. “I thought you smoked Kools?”

He smiled. “Nah, I buy them for the kids. They hate these.” “Don’t you think calling that gang ‘kids’ is a reach?”

He settled back in his seat behind a smelly cloud of smoke. “At my age they all seem like kids. Look, I don’t want to appear pushy, but I’m concerned about your interest in Peter. Frankly, I’m protective of Melanie.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“I know the two of you go back before my time. I also know you haven’t been to The End in a very long while. Suddenly you turn up, a detective, asking about Peter. If you hadn’t returned to Hope House, I would have rung you up.”

Jonathan took another long sip of his spring water, then went back to his smoke. “I might have called even if you hadn’t mentioned Peter. I don’t want anything to blindside her.”

He punched out his cigarette, then immediately lit another. “No one has spoken about Peter in years. What is it you’re after, Matthew?”

“His accident came up in one of my cases. I’m not working on it anymore.”

His eyes weren’t friendly as they searched my face. “Yesterday the case was active, and today it’s not?”

His suspicion stubborned me up. “I can’t get into the details. That falls under the…” “Rubric of client confidentiality?”

“Rubric?” I asked. “Isn’t that some sort of game?” “Isn’t this?”

His tone was sharp; I decided to see his raise, and call. “All I originally wanted was some details about a twenty-year-old death. Instead, I get a dose of suspicion. You tell me what the game is.”

He stubbed out his cigarette and compulsively lit another. He offered, but I stayed with the one I had. Barrie considered my words. When he spoke, most of the hostility was gone from his voice. “I’m not playing at anything. I told you, I’m protective of Melanie.”

I shook my head impatiently. “You keep telling me that, but you don’t say why.”

He sipped his water, then shrugged. “Mel has come a tremendous distance since you last knew her. She went from a life straight out of hell and turned it into something pretty good. When you worked in The End she was a depressed dropout. Well, she didn’t get that way accidentally. Her mother was a prostitute, her father a convict. When Peter died, what little support she had was shattered. It’s been a long road back.”

“Where do you fit in?”

He puffed on his cigarette, and exhaled with a sigh. “I moved into the neighborhood shortly after Peter’s death. I’d taken the job at Hope House where I had gotten to know Melanie. Even then you could see her potential. Giving her an opportunity to reach that potential became important to me.”

He paused, grimaced, and added, “Some of it started as a test of my social service commitment. Only it didn’t stop there.”

I was disarmed by his story, his loyalty, his twenty years in The End. “How old were you?” “About 35.”

I was surprised. “Jesus, you don’t look your age.” He chuckled. “Thanks. I work at it.”

“How did you start to help her?”

“At first in just little ways. Money, time, shoulder to lean on. Eventually, the state initiated foster care proceedings, and then I intervened. A somewhat unofficial adoption.”

“Isn’t that a little unusual? A single man with a teenage girl?”

“Isn’t everything here a little unusual? Let’s face it, when it comes to The End, out of sight is out of mind. The less outsiders have to do with this community, the better they feel. I had a couple of contacts downtown who worked it out. It helped eliminate a statistic.”

Jonathan’s voice had dropped while he spoke about the past. He looked as if he didn’t see me but some distant figure or memory. I decided to keep him there.

“So you never knew Peter?”

Barrie stared over my shoulder. “I knew him. I’d done volunteer work before I decided to make a career of it.”

“You were around, then, when he died.” “I was around, but hadn’t moved in.”

I detected an odd catch in his voice and asked, “What really happened?” His earlier suspicion flared up. “I thought you weren’t interested in this?” “For myself, that’s all.”

He hesitated, then continued, “Peter’s group of friends were at a party. Apparently, Peter wanted to go swimming and left ahead of everyone else. Early the next morning, someone found his body in Quarry’s End. He’d banged his head diving and drowned. A bright, wonderful kid had his life snuffed out by a freak accident. That’s what happened.”

He sounded like a wire service sob story. “Where was the party?”

He shrugged, “I haven’t a clue. Peter’s death left a gaping hole in Melanie’s life. He had been her rock throughout their childhood. Suddenly he was gone.” He fixed his look directly on me. “From what Melanie says, you had been one of her few close friends.”

I was surprised by the characterization. “Not really. I knew her, but not that well.” He looked at me carefully. “Mel doesn’t usually exaggerate.”

I didn’t remember any friendship between Melanie and me. I flashed on the electricity between us now, my dream fragment, and wondered what I might be repressing. I shook my head. “It’s been a long time.”

Jonathan didn’t seem to hear. “She fell apart when Peter died, and I helped her pull it together.” A note of pride entered his voice. “She’s more intact now than she’s ever been. That’s why I’m concerned about your reappearance. I don’t want anything to hurt her.”

“I have no intention of hurting Melanie.”

He shook his head. “You can’t snoop into Peter’s death without hurting her.” “I have no intention of snooping into anything.”

He sighed, shaking his head again. “I want to believe you’re not on an active case. Let me be simple and direct; do anything you want in The End, but leave Peter’s death alone. You may not have felt particularly close to Melanie, but I’m sure you know how difficult it is to escape quicksand. Reopening old wounds never keeps you afloat.”

Before I could react—much less sort through his veiled warning—we were interrupted by a broad-shouldered, shaggy-haired young man lugging a guitar case on his back. Jonathan looked startled. “Darryl, what are you doing home? I didn’t expect you for another week.”

“Couldn’t stay away,” Darryl drawled, winking at Jonathan conspiratorially.

His surprise appearance obviously left Barrie at a loss for words. He peered around the room, then sneaked a sideways glance toward me before he spoke. “Why did you come here for me?” He stared at the table, and added, “Why didn’t you call to let me know you were coming home?” Jonathan’s voice carried a truculent accusation.

Darryl rolled his eyes. “You’re wanted back at the ranch. Something to do with Dennis and the police.” He looked at me but directed his words toward Barrie. “It’s lucky I know where to find you.”

Jonathan jumped to his feet, stuffing his cigarettes into his pocket. “Matt, please take care of the bill and meet me at the Center. I’ll repay you there.”

Before I could respond, Barrie rushed out the door. Darryl stood over me as I got ready to leave. “I don’t know if you caught my name.” His tone was less polite than the words. “I’m Darryl Hart.”

I stood, stuck out my arm, and grasped a dry, firm hand. “I caught it.” “You gonna return the favor?”

“I’m Matt Jacob.”

He nodded but remained silent until we were walking toward Hope House.

“You always carry a gun?” he asked, his lips twitching with a small smile. “Only when I feel sorry for myself. Don’t fret, I’m a legal PI.”

He glanced at me, the smile twisting into a frown. “Private cop, huh? What are you doing in The End?”

“Nothing important.”

“Jonathan wouldn’t leave the Center for something that wasn’t important.” “His idea of important might be different from mine. You’ll have to ask him.”

This time Darryl showed a row of gleaming white teeth. “I plan to, PI. And when I do he’ll tell.”

I was relieved to be near the agency. Darryl’s smug grin made me uncomfortable. Darryl made me uncomfortable.

I quickened my pace as I made out the scene at the top of the steps. I wanted to see how Jonathan handled the two Blues standing just inside the door.