Inside, a guy with a shaved head and huge muttonchop sideburns looked up from behind the counter as they entered. "We're closing in about fifteen minutes."
"We'll only need one of those if you really know your stock," Jack told him.
"What I don't remember, this baby does," he said, patting the Mac to his left.
"Great. It's a single from 1971. A&M Records. 'Tried So Hard' by the Flying Burrito Brothers."
The guy snorted. "Yeah, right. The Dutch 45? I've got a waiting list for that one. Still haven't seen a copy."
Jack waved and turned back toward the door. "Thanks anyway."
"Flying Burrito Brothers?" Kate said as they returned to the sidewalk. "They're from my time. How'd you get interested in them?"
"You."
"Me?"
"Sure. You had all those Byrds albums."
"Oh, right. Back when I was horse crazy. They did that song 'Chest-nut Mare' and that got me into them and buying up all their old records. But how—?"
"You played their stuff so much I got to be a fan. And my favorite Byrd was Gene Clark. Still love his songs. So a couple of weeks ago, after buying myself a dual-deck CD burner, I decided to make the ultimate Gene Clark disk. And I want the version of 'Tried So Hard' that he sang with the Burritos. Trouble is, it was only released in Holland on a 45. The group took his voice out when they put the song on their third album."
"So you're hunting a 1971 record that wasn't even released on this side of the Atlantic. Kind of obsessive, no?"
"All your fault. The enduring influence of my big sister."
"Wow. Should I feel pleased or guilty?"
"Guilty."
"Thanks a lot. As if I don't have enough…"
She never finished the thought because someone behind them said, "Hey."
Jack turned. He was pale, dressed in dusty black jeans and a rumpled long-sleeved shirt; looked all of twenty.
He said, "A spear has no branches."
Jack stared at him, baffled. "What?"
The guy blinked, as if coming out of a trance. "I need some money."
"Sorry about that," Jack said.
"You don't get it." He raised a shaky hand, showing a box cutter. "I need some money now." His desperation was palpable.
Jack heard Kate's sharp intake of breath. He guided her behind him with his left hand while slipping his right under his sweater and pulling the Glock from the small of his back. He held the pistol against the front of his right thigh where Kate couldn't see it.
"Look," Jack said, "I've had a bad day, a very bad day, and I'm in no mood for this. Try it somewhere else."
Looking as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard, the guy waved the box cutter before him. "Money, man, or I start cuttin'."
"You don't want to start this, pal," Jack said. "You really don't. 'Cause if you do it's not gonna go down the way you were thinking." He raised the Glock a few inches and waggled it to make sure the guy couldn't miss it. "You see what I'm saying? So do yourself a favor and take a walk."
The guy's eyes angled down to the pistol, then back to Jack's face. He backed up a step.
"Hey, forget it, okay?"
"Forgotten," Jack said.
The guy turned and hurried away. Jack watched to make sure he kept going, then he turned Kate around and guided her ahead of him back toward Seventh, tucking away the pistol as they moved.
"I've never been so frightened in my life!" she said, looking over her shoulder. "My goodness, Jack, he had some sort of razor blade and you… you just talked him out of it! How on earth—?"
"I think that even though he was a mugger, he must be one of those naturally empathetic people."
"An empathetic mugger?"
"Sure. I told him I'd had a bad day and really didn't want to be bothered, and he understood."
"That's crazy! I've never heard of such a thing!"
"Happens now and then. You'd be surprised how many people like him respond to reason if given a chance."
Kate talked about the encounter non-stop until they reached the place where she was staying, an apartment in the mid-Twenties. Jack took one look and fell in love with the building. Its five-story brick front was lined with intricate terra cotta friezes, two per floor, one running along the floorline, the other arching over the windows, and in the keystone spot atop each window was set an open-mouthed face of some sort—animal or human Jack couldn't be sure in this light.
"What a neat building!" he said.
It stood out like a polished gem amid the debris of an otherwise purely commercial block of parking lots, print shops, frame galleries, and businesses dealing in wholesale fabric and sewing machine repairs.
"It's called the Arsley," Kate said. "The name's not anywhere on the building, at least not that I've seen, but that's what people who live here call it."
"I'll have to add this to my collection."
"You collect buildings?"
"Only neat ones. And this one is very neat."
"You're still saying 'neat'?"
"Never stopped." He snapped his fingers. "Hey, how about I take you on my Neat Building tour sometime?"
"I don't know, Jackie."
"I want to get together with you again before you go back to Trenton, Kate. I want Gia and Vicky to meet you too."
The need to reconnect with Kate was an ache in Jack's soul. He'd just got her back and couldn't let her slip away again.
Finally she smiled. "Okay. I think I'd like that. You have my cell number. Set it up and call me."
"I'll do that."
His delight was blunted as his mind darted back to the very real possibility that she was in some sort of trouble. She'd felt threatened enough to call a perfect stranger for help. Something was going on, something more serious than a friend acting strangely. Kate might say she didn't want his help, but that didn't mean she didn't need it. And if she needed help, like it or not, he'd see that she got it.
Then the briefest of hugs but the contact filled him with a protective fire.
Kate was his sister, damn it. Nobody was going to play games with his sister. Not on Jack's watch.
9
"Why did you follow me?"
Kate jumped at the sound of Jeanette's voice, turned and saw her standing at the end of the apartment's short front hallway. Kate had left Jack down on the sidewalk and had been expecting an empty apartment.
Jeanette was dressed for bed in her usual—an XXXL T-shirt that hung off one thin shoulder and reached almost to the knees of her long slim tanned legs; tonight's was emblazoned with the cover of the Indigo Girls' Come On Now Social album. Her dark shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a short ponytail. Her brown eyes fixed Kate with a reproachful stare.
Kate's first thought was, How does she know? Then she remembered the figure she'd thought she'd seen at the window of the Holdstock house. She'd had the impression it was a man but it must have been Jeanette.
And then guilt scalded her. She'd sneaked out behind the woman she loved and followed her like a cop tailing a criminal. But she'd done it out of concern.
"Because I'm worried about you, Jeanette. You're just not yourself and I—"
"You shouldn't have done that."
Kate sensed no anger in her voice, no threat, yet something in the words, a subliminal note in her tone, raised gooseflesh along her arms.
"I couldn't help myself. I'm so worried."
"Don't be. I'm fine. In fact I've never been better."
"But we never talk, and—"
"We'll talk soon," Jeanette said. "We'll talk as we've never talked before. I promise."
And then she turned and walked away toward the study at the rear of the apartment.
Kate trailed after her. "How about now?"