around his neck. The huffing girl beside him had a face as round as a bowling ball. She was dressed in a jumpsuit that bulged over bouncing piles of fat.
Could these be trollers?
A wimp and a blimp.
But they might have friends nearby, watching, waiting to pounce.
Joan released the grips of her .38 and took her hand out from under her sweatshirt. She held the hand toward them, palm up.
Might as well play it to the hilt, she thought.
Hope they didn’t hear Dave.
Still a few strides away from her, the two kids halted. They glanced at each other. They were both out of breath.
“How’s about a coupla bits?” Joan croaked. “Ain’t had me a bite t’eat in—”
“I think we need help, Officer,” the boy said.
Officer?
“Something awful’s happening,” the girl suddenly blurted. “I got away. I got out and I don’t know what’s going on, but I think it’s awfully bad. The trolls. Trolls in the walls. You gotta come.”
“Dave!” Joan called over her shoulder.
He hurried forward. He had his Beretta out, barrel raised beside his head.
“They’ve made me. They say there’s some kind of trouble.”
“Pat ’em down,” Dave said. “Hands on your heads, kids, and interlace your fingers.”
“We haven’t done anything,” the boy protested, but he followed instructions. So did the girl.
“What’re you doing out here?”
“Nothing.”
“We’d better let them talk,” Joan said. Flinging her blanket off, she stepped behind the boy and started to frisk him. “Something’s going down.”
“The others…” the girl said. “We went in a…a basement…and…”
“Let’s hear about last night,” Dave said. “Tell us about the troll you got last night.”
Joan felt a long hard bulge in the boy’s right-front pocket. “Got something here.”
“We didn’t do anything last night,” the boy said. “If you waste time giving us the third degree about some stupid—!”
Joan stuffed her hand into his pocket.
“Hey! You don’t have a search warrant. I’ve got my rights!”
“You’ve got the right to shut up,” Joan said.
“Please!” the girl whined. “Our friends!”
“Your friends are trollers,” Dave said. “If they’ve gotten into a mess, too damn bad. Let’s go back to last night.”
Joan pulled a knife from the boy’s pocket. She thumbed a button on its handle. The blade sprang out and locked. “Switchblade,” she said. She closed it and tossed it underhand to Dave. He glanced at it, then pushed it into a pocket of his jeans.
“You kids are in deep shit,” he said. “Now, I want to hear everything you know about a woman you and your friends nailed here last night.”
Done frisking the boy, Joan stepped behind the girl and started to pat her down. Her flesh felt loose and soft under the velour jumpsuit.
“We weren’t here last night,” the boy said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The girl began to sob. “They’re gonna be killed! They’re all gonna be killed! I just know it!”
“She’s clean,” Joan said.
“Okay. Well, we’ve got this one on a weapons charge.”
Joan stepped in front of them. “Where are the others?”
“They want to bust me. Don’t tell them.”
“I have to! It was so bad! You weren’t there, you don’t know how bad it was.”
The boy’s face twisted with indecision.
“They aren’t gonna bust you, Randy. They can’t. If they bust you, they’ve gotta bust her sister, and—”
Joan’s heart lurched. “Whose sister?”
“Yours,” the boy said.
“Shiner,” the girl said. “Betty.”
“Debbie,” the boy corrected her.
Joan went cold and rigid.
“Jesus Christ,” Dave muttered.
Debbie. A troller. No, that was impossible.
Trolls in the walls.
They’re gonna be killed! They’re all gonna be killed!
“Show us where they are,” Joan said.
“No.” The kid grabbed the girl’s sleeve and glared at Joan. “First you have to promise you won’t—”
Joan’s open hand hit his face. His head snapped sideways. His glasses flew off and skidded across the boards.
“Move it!” she yelled in the girl’s face.
The girl swung around and trotted toward the stairs, Joan close behind her.
“It’ll be all right,” Dave said.
“No!” Robin shouted. “Come back!”
But they didn’t hear her. They’d heard none of her yells. They’d never even glanced in her direction.
She was just too far away, too great a distance down the boardwalk, and too high up for her voice to reach them through the sounds of the wind and surf.
Clinging to the side of the gondola, she watched the fat girl rush down the stairs to the beach, followed by the woman and man. The kid bent down. He picked up his glasses and put them on, stood there for a few moments as if he didn’t know what to do, then ran to catch up with the others.