"I'm not feeling all that well," I said to Mike, so that Charlie could hear. "I think I'm going to be sick. Would you walk me back to the ladies' room?"
I took Mike by the hand and started to lead him through the groups of drinkers, while Charlie called after us. "Take it outside, okay? Don't be messing up in here."
A couple claimed our seats as soon as we were out of the way. Charlie looked around desperately for someone to give him a hand. He called out to one of the waitresses, but she couldn't hear him over the music and laughter.
As we disappeared into the hallway, I looked back and saw Charlie reach under the bar and come up with a telephone receiver. "You really overdid it last-"
"I'm fine, Mike. I was just scouting for a place where Kiernan might be holed up," I said, pointing to the sign on the last door. "You want a shot at him? If he didn't see tonight's news, we're way ahead of the game."
Mike brushed past me and opened the door. There was a staircase going up a flight, but no lights. He went up the steps as quickly as possible and I followed behind him.
At the top was another door, and the sound of scuffling behind it. I could hear voices, two people talking to each other. Mike jiggled the handle but the door was locked, so he pounded on it.
"Whaddaya want? Who is it?"
"Police. Open up. C'mon-right now."
"Police? What are you, crazy?" a male voice called out. "You got a warrant or something? I'm gonna make a phone call."
"I don't need a warrant, Kiernan. I'm not here to search anything," Mike said. "Calm down. You don't make a call and I won't make a call."
"Whaddaya mean? Whaddaya mean you won't make a call?"
"Walk to the front of the room and look out the window. You're gonna see a black Crown Vic. We've got the place staked out, up and down the block. Take a look, Kiernan. I'll wait that long. One call from me to my crew, they come marching in the front door of Ruffles and all those cute little twinkies whose blood alcohol level is higher than their SAT scores? The next time you see any of them-or a liquor license-you'll be too old to know what to do with them."
There was no noise for a minute, and then I could hear the man's footsteps march away, toward the window facing the street. Slowly, he made his way back and cracked open the door.
"Chapman, Mike Chapman. NYPD." Mike left out the homicide reference. It was often the fastest way to end a conversation. "This is Alex Cooper. She's with the DA's office."
"Kiernan Dylan." He said his name but blocked the entrance with his large body.
"We'd like to come in."
"This isn't a really good time. I've got somebody with me. If you just want to talk, we can do it this way."
"I'm afraid of the dark," Mike said, pushing the door open and walking past Kiernan. "I'd prefer it in here."
I took a few steps in and heard a sniffling noise from someone huddled in an armchair in the corner.
Mike found a floor lamp and turned it on. "You okay, young lady?"
The black-haired teenager wiped her nose with the back of her hand and looked up at Kiernan before answering. "Uh-huh. Yeah."
I saw him cover his crotch and heard the sound of his fly zipping up. In addition to the desk and several file cabinets on the side of the room, there was a large futon under the window. I assumed from the disarray of the sheets that we had interrupted an intimate encounter.
"Can I go?" she asked. Her eyes were red and her nose was running. Hard to know whether she had been crying or snorting cocaine, until I saw the razor blade on the glass-topped table. A bottle of tequila and two paper cups were on the floor beside it.
"What's your name?" Mike asked, kneeling to make eye contact with her.
Again, she looked at Kiernan before speaking. "Sally. Sally Anton."
"How old are you?"
Kiernan started to answer for her but Mike held out his arm and he stopped. "I'm twenty-um. I'm twenty-two."
"Let's see your ID."
"Look, Chapman. Everybody gets carded here, okay? The SLA has no beef with me. I don't know why you cops think you can barge in-"
Mike looked at the license. "What year were you born?"
Sally looked at the ceiling and sucked on her lower lip, trying to do the math. "Like, um, nineteen eighty um…"
Mike snapped his fingers a few times as he stood up. "You got to get that down, Sally. Next ID you buy," he said, pocketing her fake license, "you've got to learn to memorize the date of birth, not just your age."
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she pulled up her strapless halter top.
"How are you going to get home?" I asked her.
"Well, he was going to go with me."
Kiernan took twenty dollars from his pocket and handed it to her. "Tell Charlie to have one of the guys put you in a cab, babe."
"What guys?" Mike asked.
"The ones who work the door," Kiernan said, looking at his watch. "They'll be on any minute. Take a cab, Sally. I'll call you later."
The young woman collected her belongings-pocketbook, cell phone, and a thong that was on the futon, tangled up in the wires of her iPod-before closing the door behind her.
"Have a seat," Mike said to Kiernan. We pulled three chairs in a circle.
"What's this about?"
Kiernan Dylan was built like a fullback. He was taller than Mike- at least six three-and looked like he weighed more than 240 pounds. His eyes were set too close and his nose appeared to have been broken several times.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-eight," he said, leaning back so that the two front legs of the chair tipped off the floor.
"Ever hear of statutory rape?"
The chair thudded down and Kiernan slammed his hand on the desk. "What? You must be crazy, man. I don't have to rape anybody. I got girls-never mind."
"I know Sally isn't twenty-two. Here's hoping she's at least hit eighteen."
"That's what this is? You policing my social life? Not even my mother does that, Chapman."
"You go to college, Kiernan?"
"Yeah. Boston University."
"Any military service?"
"ROTC. I was ROTC at school."
"Did you like it?"
"Yeah, yeah, I liked it. My father wanted me to go into the marines- like him-but I didn't do it."
Mike was stone-faced. "Did you listen to any news tonight?"
"What news?"
"Some people, they're interested in world affairs or local politics. Sports. Weather and traffic. Winning lottery numbers. Sound familiar? The news, Kiernan, you watch any?"
"Not lately."
"How about last week?"
"I'm asking you, what news?"
"Your friend Elise Huff. Anybody tell you she's missing?"
"My friend who?" Dylan's heavy eyebrows vibrated like a thick caterpillar across the center of his forehead.
"Elise Huff. The girl who was supposed to meet with you two weeks ago at the Pioneer."
"I don't know who you're talking about. Why would I go to the Pioneer when I've got my own place?"
" 'Cause a lot of your friends still party there," I said. " 'Cause maybe you didn't want to bring another girl in here, when so many others are waiting to play with you."
"Elise Huff," Mike said again. "From Tennessee. Worked for an airline."
"Oh, yeah," Kiernan said, his mouth agape. "The stewardess. I didn't even know her last name."
Or the sales agent who told people she was a stewardess.
"How many times did you see her?" Mike asked.
"Why?" he asked, his large hand grabbing a rubber band from the desk and stretching it as he talked. "She's got no gripe against me. I never touched her."
"I asked you how many times you saw her."
"I met her one night. Once."
"Where?"
"At the house of a girlfriend of hers. I was just along for the ride with one of my college buddies. Just hanging out, is all. She was like a stalker, you know what I mean? Followed me around all night like a puppy dog. Kept calling me all the time after that. Trying to get together with me. Really annoying, she was."