straight down, the tiny raven of denial vanished in a wisp. He pulled the blinds on that side of the apartment and sat in the locked bedroom with Sophie, a box of Pampers, a basket of produce, a six-pack each of baby formula and orange soda, and hid out until the phone rang.
"What do you think you're doing?" said a very deep man's voice on the other end of the line. "Are you insane?"
Charlie was taken aback; from the caller ID, he'd expected a wrong number. "I'm eating this thing I think is either a melon or a squash." He looked at the green thing, which tasted like a melon but looked more like a squash, with spikes. (Mrs. Ling had called it "shut-up-and-eat-it-good-for-you.")
The man said, "You're screwing up. You have a job to do. Do what the book says or everything that means anything to you will be taken away. I mean it."
"What book? Who is this?" Charlie asked. He thought the voice sounded familiar, and it immediately sent him into alarm mode for some reason.
"I can't tell you that, I'm sorry," said the man. "I really am."
"I've got caller ID, you nit. I know where you're calling from."
"Oops," said the man.
"You should have thought of that. What kind of ominous power of darkness do you think you are if you don't even block caller ID?"
The little readout on the phone said Fresh Music and a number. Charlie called the number back but no one answered. He ran to the kitchen, dug the phone book out of the drawer, and looked up Fresh Music. It was a record store off upper Market in the Castro district.
The phone rang again and he grabbed the handset off the counter so violently he nearly chipped a tooth in answering.
"You merciless bastard!" Charlie screamed into the phone. "Do you have any idea what I've been going through, you heartless monster!"
"Well, fuck you, Asher!" Lily said. "Just because I'm a kid doesn't mean I don't have feelings." And she hung up.
Charlie called back.
"Asher's Secondhand," Lily answered, "family-owned by bourgeoisie douche waffles for over thirty years."
"Lily, I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else. What did you call about?"
"Moi?" Lily said. "Je me fous de ta gueule, espèce de gaufre de douche."
"Lily, stop speaking French. I said I was sorry."
"There's a cop down here to see you," she said.
Charlie had Sophie strapped to his chest like a terrorist baby bomb when he came down the back steps. She had just gotten to the point where she could hold up her head, so he had strapped her in face-out so she could look around. The way her arms and legs waved around as Charlie walked, she looked as if she was skydiving and using a skinny nerd as a parachute.
The cop stood at the counter opposite Lily, looking like a cognac ad in an Italian-cut double-breasted suit in indigo raw silk with a buff linen shirt and yellow tie. He was about fifty, Hispanic, lean, with sharp facial features and the aspect of a predatory bird. His hair was combed straight back and the gray streaks at the temples made it appear that he was moving toward you even when he stood still.
"Inspector Alphonse Rivera," the cop said, extending his hand. "Thanks for coming down. The young lady said you were working last Monday night."
Monday. The day he'd battled the ravens back in the alley, the day the pale redhead had come into the store.
"You don't have to tell him anything, Asher," Lily said, obviously renewing her loyalty in spite of his douche wafflosity.
"Thanks, Lily, why don't you take a break and go see how things are going in the abyss."
She grumbled, then got something out of the drawer under the register, presumably her cigarettes, and retreated out the back door.
"Why isn't that kid in school?" Rivera asked.
"She's special," Charlie said. "You know, homeschooled."
"That what makes her so cheerful?"
"She's studying the Existentialists this month. Asked for a study day last week to kill an Arab on the beach."
Rivera smiled and Charlie relaxed a little. He produced a photograph from his breast pocket and held it out to Charlie. Sophie made as if to grab it. The photograph was of an older gentleman in his Sunday best standing on the steps of a church. Charlie recognized the Cathedral of Sts. Peter and Paul, which was just a few blocks away on Washington Square.
"Did you see this man Monday night? He was wearing a charcoal overcoat and a