recognized, to his concern, was the same as that of the boy he had talked to the previous night. He would have to look into it when he arrived at work.
Frings had been a little surprised not to find Nora, or at least a note, that morning. She might be at a number of places, at girlfriends of hers from her life before stardom. She might also be with a man. He had never known her to be unfaithful to him, but with their current unease with each other and the reality that she could have nearly any man at her whim, it seemed within the realm of possibility. Frings was not a jealous man, though, and his only anxiety in this regard was for losing her as a part of his life. And he wasn’t even sure how he felt about that.
She would be back, he knew, when he returned late that night from his meeting with Bernal.
Eddie, the assistant, was waiting for him at the door to the newsroom, more highly strung than usual. His hair was wildly askew.
“There are some people here from the mayor’s office to talk to you. They’re in Panos’s office waiting.”
Frings wasn’t surprised by the visit, given his column in that morning’s paper. But he began to sweat from his back and under his arms.
“Panos there?”
“Yep. They wanted to talk to you alone, but Panos wouldn’t have it.”
“Look. Do me a favor while I’m in there. Go down to the library and ask Lonergan to dig out any article we have on Vampire Reid getting murdered a few years back. Can you do that for me?”
Ed nodded, and Frings headed for Panos and his visitors.
Panos’s office was silent when Frings walked in. Panos was leaning back in his chair with his feet up on his desk, eating an orange, the juice flowing down his chin. Two men in suits watched this spectacle with disgust. One was Smith. The other was a smaller man with a face like a terrier’s.
Panos pulled his feet from the desk and sat up. “Frankie,” he said with exaggerated cheer. “We have some people here to talk to us. Your names are what again? Smith and Rider?”
“Rivers,” said the Terrier sourly.
Nobody offered hands to shake.
Frings took a seat while Panos took another huge bite of orange.
“What can I help you fellas with?” Frings asked, all innocence.
Smith held up that morning’s Gazette. “In this article, you claim you spoke with the bombers.” Frings had filed the story just under the deadline for the final edition.
“That’s right. Last night, in fact.”
Smith leaned forward in his chair, his face red with rage. “I’m not playing, Frings. Who the hell are they? Where did you meet them? This is a matter vital to the safety of the citizens of this City.”
“It’s a matter of safety for your boss and his rich chums. If you’d read the story, you’d have that figured.”
“I’m trying to be patient. Who are they, Frings?”
“You know I’m not going to tell you that. I rat out my sources every time you came knocking, no one’s ever going to talk to me. I won’t be able to work. The chief’ll back me up on that one, too. Right, chief?”
Panos, who had started on a second orange and had his mouth full, muttered something unintelligible and nodded.
“This is not the time to be cute, Frings. You and that fat shit boss of yours think this is some kind of goddamn joke. You tell me who they are now, or you’re going to get hurt.”
Frings laughed. “Take a walk. You know you’re not going to get anything here.”
The Terrier was up and out of his chair and had a knife at the side of Frings’s face. The blade depressed, but did not cut, the skin. Their eyes met. Frings saw the man’s eagerness to inflict pain.
Panos stood.
“You want to try again?” Smith asked.
Frings said, “What, you’re going to have this maniac cut me right here in this office?” He moved his lips as little as possible as he spoke, not wanting to cut his face on the knife.
Smith nodded, and with his knife, the Terrier lifted the inside of Frings’s top lip, and with a subtle flick he sliced through it. Warm blood poured from the wound into Frings’s mouth and down his chin.
“Goddamn it,” Frings said, clutching his mouth and falling from his chair onto his knees, blood flowing through the gaps in his fingers at an alarming rate.
“Get the goddamn