as it retreated back inside to their oil-drum fire. It was insane.
“Why? Why are you bombing them?”
“They owe us. You know? They owe us.”
“They owe you? Block, Altabelli, and Bernal owe you?” What was he talking about?
The leader nodded vigorously. “They owe us. They owe us.”
“They owe you what?”
“Scratch.”
“Scratch?”
The leader made a hand motion as if he were dealing cards. Or handing out money, Frings realized.
“They owe you money?”
“Money.” The leader nodded. “Money.”
“For what?” This wasn’t making sense.
“They stole it. They took our scratch, uhmm, money, took our money.”
It didn’t seem possible that these kids could have any money to take, much less that Block or Altabelli or Bernal would bother to take it if they did.
“Why would they take your money?”
“We’re orphans. We’re owed,” he said, stretching out the o in owed. “They stole that scratch they owed.”
Frings thought he understood what they were trying to tell him, but it didn’t follow. The way these kids spoke. They were orphans. They had probably never seen the inside of a school.
“Why did you want to see me?”
“You’re that writer. You’re the writer we need to tell about the bombs and the scratch they owe.”
Frings stared back at the child.
“You write what we said. You write it.”
“You want me to write what you said?”
The kids clapped and nodded.
“You want me to write that you are orphans and they owe you money and that is why you bombed them?”
“Yes,” the leader said, smiling. “Yes.”
One of the boys snuck behind the group and put something on the fire and the flames suddenly leapt, reaching ten feet in the air. Frings felt the contrast of the heat on the front of his face and the cold on the back of his head. The higher flames illuminated the boys’ pale faces, coloring them orange. They were gaunt, skeletal creatures, some smiling under dull eyes.
Frings broke away from the boys and the fire and looked back at the leader. They locked eyes. The boy’s were feverish.
“What’s your name?” Frings asked.
The boy pronounced his name with great care, as if he had practiced it often. “Casper Prosnicki.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Feral stood outside Nora’s door, listening to the tinny music coming from her Victrola. Verdi. He tried the door cautiously and found it locked. He took the keys that he’d nicked on his previous visit and carefully unlocked the dead bolt. With intense concentration he turned the knob until he felt the tongue slip out of the hole, then he eased the door forward at a painfully slow pace, careful not to let it squeak. Once in, he closed the door with equal care until the tongue had eased back in place, then laid the keys back on the table in the foyer and found the spot where he had previously watched Nora.
She was reading on the couch again, her back to him, a martini glass within easy reach on an end table. Almost exactly the same as the first time, except this time he had work to do.
He stood silently, and after perhaps an hour her head drifted slowly to the side and, with a start, straightened up again. Sleep was coming soon.
A man on the street, an off-duty ASU officer, was to honk if Frings returned. Feral knew that this particular night was not vital. If it did not work out, there would be other opportunities. Red Henry, though, liked his orders to be carried out quickly, and there was no reason to needlessly disappoint him.
Finally, her head lolled to the right and her shoulders rose and fell in a slow, regular rhythm. He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a vial. He removed the cork from the top, and holding the vial at arm’s length so as not to get any of the fine powder around his face, he tapped some of it into his hand. Moving slowly, he crept to the couch, kneeling down next to Nora. He had known this moment would arrive, but the reality of being this close to her—this intimate—made him uncomfortable. He had thought of this moment often, the two of them meeting in the flesh. These were not romantic or sexual thoughts, though he knew that at some level he desired her. But that was not the focus of his thoughts of her. It was merely to touch this woman who had so enthralled him from a distance under the blue spotlight.
He held the palm with the powder in front of his mouth and gently blew the contents into