Hosts

Despite the early hour nearly half a dozen men stood at the bar smoking and sipping drafts. Sandy hesitated, then stepped up and placed his Identi-Kit printout before the nearest drinker.

"I'm looking for this man."

The fellow glanced at Sandy, then down at the printout, then back at Sandy. He had a worn middle-aged face, wore dusty work pants and a faded T-shirt that might have once sported a logo of some sort. A shot and most of an eight-ounce draft sat before him on the bar.

"Who the hell are you?"

Sandy was used to suspicious reactions. He went into his patter.

"I've been hired by the executor of his uncle's estate to find him. He's come into some money."

The man's eye's narrowed. "What's in it for me?"

Sandy couldn't count how many times he'd been asked that since he started searching. He'd finally come up with a reply that worked.

"Nothing from me, I'm afraid. I'm paid by the day. But that doesn't mean you can't work something out with this guy if you know him."

The man leaned toward Sandy. "You came to the right place," he whispered, his eyes shifting back and forth, his breath so sour Sandy had to grip the bar to keep from recoiling. "He's here right now."

Sandy jerked up straight and looked around. Oh, Christ! He's here? Right here?

But he saw no one who even vaguely resembled the man on the train.

"Where?"

"Right next to me!" the man said, then burst into a raucous laugh as he grabbed the printout and turned to his neighbor. "Ain't this you, Barney? Tell this fella here it's you and we'll both be rich!"

"Yeah that's me!" Barney cried. " 'Cept I'm better lookin'!"

Bastards, Sandy thought as they passed the sheet down the bar and back. Some of the others laughed, others just stared at him.

He held out his hand. "Very fu

"Naw," said the first drinker. "We're go

"That's my only one." Sandy had four more folded in his pocket but he wasn't about to let them know. "Please. I need it."

Barney said, "Hey, Lou, you know what I think? I think we should put my phone number on this, take it over to Staples, and get a hundred copies made. We plaster them all over the place and collect the reward."

No! Sandy thought, feeling a surge of panic. He couldn't lose control of that picture. It was his key!

"There is no reward! Now give it to me!"

He tried to grab the printout, reaching for it, but Lou roughly shoved his arm away.

"Watch it, kid. You spill my beer and I drink the next one out of your empty skull!"

"That's mine and I want it back!" Sandy said, his voice rising of its own accord. If he had to fight these old bastards he would. No one was going to screw up his future.

"Hey-hey!" said a new voice. '"What's going on, meng?"

Sandy looked around and saw a short muscular Hispanic in a sleeveless sweatshirt.

"Hey, Julio," Lou said, handing him the printout. "Fella here's lookin' for this guy. You ever seen him?"

Julio—Sandy assumed he was the Julio this dive was named after—said nothing for a long time, slowly smoothing his pencil-line mustache with his free hand as he stared at the paper. Then, without looking up, he began peppering Sandy with questions about who and why and what reward. Sandy gave his standard replies but they didn't seem to be flying.

"Yeah, I seen him," Julio said, finally looking at Sandy. His eyes were piercingly dark.

Sandy saw truth in those eyes and felt his heart pick up tempo.

"Where?"

"Not sure. Around. Tell you what, meng. I do you a favor. I hang this up by the bar and if anybody knows him, they call you. What your number?"

Sandy was about to give it to him when he noticed that Barney and Lou had somehow managed to position themselves between him and the door. And the three other men at the bar had all stopped talk and were staring his way.

Menace writhed through the air… something going on here…

"I…" Think. Think! "This is kind of embarrassing… I've been a little short lately and so my service was canceled."

"Too bad. You got more of these?"

"Not on me."

"Where you live?"

Sandy was alarmed at where these questions were going… they all seemed aimed at pi

"I'm staying with a friend. She… she wouldn't like me giving out her address."

Oh, shit! he thought, wishing he could take that back. That didn't go with his story about his phone being turned off.

"I thinking now," Julio said. "I think I remember seeing this guy a lot in the park."

"What park? Central?'* That wasn't much help.

"No. Riverside."

That was even worse. Riverside Park ran along the Hudson for miles, from the Seventies up past the GW Bridge.

"Any particular area of the park?"

"Yeah. I think I seen him playing basketball a couple time. Right down here."

"This end of the park? Great."

"Yeah. You look there. Maybe you run into him."

"Thanks a lot." Sandy reached out a tentative hand. "Can I have my drawing back?"

"No," Julio said, folding it and sticking it in his back pocket. "I think I keep this one."

Sandy was about to protest but something in the little man's face told him that would be futile.

"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't show that around until I find that man and talk to him."

"If that is your wish."

The reply startled Sandy. Why so agreeable all of a sudden?

Julio made a tight, almost imperceptible sweeping motion with his right hand and Sandy heard Lou and Barney move back to the bar.

Julio gri

"You got it," Sandy said.

He turned and practically leaped through the door to the safety of the sidewalk. He headed west without a look back.

Glad to be out of that place. All sorts of undercurrents flowing through it. Probably something illegal going on and he'd riled their suspicions.

But no matter. He'd got the break he'd been praying for. And Riverside Park was only a few blocks ahead.

Anticipation spurred him into an easy trot.

4

"Your sister?" Gia said, her blue eyes wide.

"The one and only."

Jack tapped the Crown Vic's steering wheel in mild frustration; they'd zipped out of the airport parking area but now the Grand Central Parkway was moving at a geriatric pace.

He'd picked up Gia and Vicky at LaGuardia after their flight in from Des Moines. Jack was stirred at how much these two meant to him. The anxiety he'd felt before the plane landed, his impatience when they weren't the first off, and then the throat-tightening burst of pleasure when they appeared: Gia, trim and leggy in jeans and a pink T-shirt, and eight-year-old Vicky ru

"You've got a sister, Jack?" Vicky said from the back seat. "I didn't know you had a sister. Can I play with her?"

"Sure. She's my big sister, you know."

"Oh." Vicky's voice fell. "You mean she's old."

Jack drew in his lips, covering his teeth, and hoarsened his voice to sound like an old codger. "Yesh, she'sh sho old she'sh got no teeth, jusht like me."

Vicky laughed and said, "Is that a joke, Mom?"

Gia said, "Very loosely defined, yes."

"Goody! That means I can give you the present I brought you from Iowa."

"A present?" Jack said, exaggerating his surprise. "For me? Oh, you shouldn't have."

While Vicky was fumbling in her backpack, Jack's beeper chirped.