and his people were closing a net around the whole Times Square area. Each phone call pulled the weave a little tighter, and the phone kept ringing.
Ring. "Sinjin? This is Fadeout."
"Where are you?"
"In front of Nathan's. No sign of her. It's not quite as bad as New Year's Eve, but it's not far off either."
"You visible?"
"For the moment. Otherwise I'd have nat assholes bumping into me every other second. Besides, I may need the energy if she shows."
"She'll show. Wyrm is certain of it."
"Where the hell is he?"
"In his limo, fighting traffic. Where are the rest of our people?"
"Egrets and Werewolves all over the place. Our jokers are all wearing Dr. Tachyon masks, so we know who they are. The Whisperer's up by the Cohan statue, Bludgeon is hanging around outside the Wet Pussycat, Chickenhawk's perched on top of the tower. He's supposed to be watching, but he's probably eating a goddamned pigeon. We've got a few guys in cabs too, in case she tries to hail a taxi, maybe she'll get one of ours."
Hiram tensed at the mention of Bludgeon's name. When the next call rang through, and he heard a familiar razor-cruel voice come out of the speakerphone, he edged forward until he was in the doorjamb. "Loophole, you fucker," the voice said. "It's me."
"Yes," Latham replied in polite, icy tones.
"I just spotted the gash. I'm watching her tight little butt right now. You ought to see her, nothing on but a fuckin' bikini, her titties just hangin' out there. Should I kill her?"
"No," Lathan said crisply. "Follow her."
"Shit, I could twist her fuckin' head off before she knew I was there." He laughed. "Fuckin' shame to waste the rest of her, though."
"She is not to be killed, not until we have the book. Obviously she's not carrying it. Keep her in sight, but don't touch her. Wyrm is on his way."
"Fuck," Bludgeon said. "Can I have a little fun with her, after we get the shit back?"
"Follow her, Seivers," Loophole said. He hung up. The penthouse was strangely quiet for a moment.
Then Hiram heard the creak of Latham's swivel chair, followed by the soft sound of the lawyer's footsteps. The bathroom, he thought in sudden panic.
The footsteps moved closer.
Spector pushed another plastic garbage bag to one side. A rat the size of a dachshund launched itself toward him. The animal scrambled up his arm toward his throat. He grabbed it by the tail with one hand and banged its head into the edge of the metal barge. The rat squealed and twitched convulsively. He let it drop.
The sparkler was burning low, singeing his fingers. Tiny flakes of burning metal were irritating the back of Spectors hand. He tossed the sparkler over the side of the barge. There was a faint hiss when it hit the water.
"God, I wish it was daylight. We might have a shot at finding them," Spector said.
"If it was daylight, you'd have to fight the gulls. They swarm around these barges like bees to honey. Pick you to pieces if you're not careful. Don't give up yet," said Ralph. He pulled another sparkler out of the box and lit it off the one he was holding, then handed it to Spector. "Those notebooks are on this barge somewhere, and we're going to find them."
Spector was feeling stronger as time passed. His foot didn't hurt nearly as much as before. The stump was getting longer and separating at the end, like toes were trying to reform. The smell on the barge was so strong that even Spector was bothered by it. He wished for a breeze and started digging through the garbage again.
"That's it. Don't give up." Ralph sorted through the trash quickly but carefully. But he'd had a lot of practice.
Spector liked Ralph, but he wasn't happy about it. He couldn't remember the last time somebody went out of their way to help him. He'd feel pretty rotten if he had to kill the guy, but it was probably the smart thing to do. He couldn't have somebody running around who could connect him with the stolen notebooks.
"Say, friend. You never told me your name."
"Allen," Spector said. "Tommy Allen." He didn't know why he'd bothered to lie; he was going to snuff Ralph anyway. "Nice to meet you, Tommy." Ralph extended a garbagesmeared hand. Spector hesitated, then grasped it and shook once. "What's your line of work?"
"I'm, uh, an exterminator." Spector took a few steps away from Ralph and dug into some fresh