Time of the Assassins

'Thank God you're back,' Carmen said as he closed the door behind him.

'What's wrong?' he asked, his eyes flickering between the two women. 'Is it Rosie?'

Rachel bit her lip as she struggled to hold back the tears. 'She's gone.'

'What do you mean "gone"?'

'She had a blazing row with Eddie and stormed out of the house,' Rachel replied. 'We don't know where she's gone.'

Whitlock sat down. 'When did this happen?'

'About two hours ago. Eddie had just got back from work when they had a row in the kitchen. She stormed out of the house. I'm beside myself with worry, C.W. She's only wearing a T-shirt and jeans. And she doesn't have any money. I'm sure she's gone back to Times Square. That's where she's been spending most of her time these last few months.'

'And one of the conditions of her bail was that she wasn't to go anywhere near Times Square until her case went to court,' Carmen said.

Whitlock rubbed his eyes wearily.

'Where's Eddie now?'

'He's out looking for her,' Rachel replied, 'but he doesn't know Times Square.'

'Do you know any of her regular haunts there?' Whitlock asked.

Rachel shook her head. 'Rosie never tells us anything.'

Whitlock got to his feet. 'Well, I'd better get over there.'

'It's no use going now,' Carmen told him. 'You wouldn't know where Eddie was. He's phoning every twenty minutes to see if you're back.'

'When did he last phone?"

'About ten minutes ago,' Carmen said, glancing at her watch.

Til go and change,' Whitlock said.

'Are you hungry?' Carmen asked. 'There's a casserole in the oven. I can put some out for you before you go.'

'No, I had a big lunch. I'll eat later.'

'C.W.?'

Whitlock paused in the doorway to look back at Rachel.

'Bring her home. Please.'

Whitlock nodded grimly and left the room.

Rosie Kruger was in the Rollercoaster, her favourite bar on West 43rd Street, less than a hundred yards away from the heart of Times Square. She had her father's pale blue eyes but her long black hair and honey complexion had been inherited from her mother. She was sixteen-years-old but with her slim, petite figure and attractive features she could have passed for twenty. Kenny Doyle, the twenty-eight-year-old barman at the Rollercoaster, knew her real age but that had never stopped him from serving her a drink. He had been a good friend to her and when she walked out on her parents she had made straight for the bar, looking for him. He understood her plight. He had run away from his home in Chicago when he was fifteen and still bore the scars from the beating he had received at the hands of his father after his parents had discovered he was gay. He had never contacted them again. As far as he was concerned, he had no parents.

Rosie felt the same way about her parents. Her father was on the brink of alcoholism, a pathetic figure who could only face life if he had a bottle in his hand. She knew he was on the verge of losing his job. Not that it really mattered to him any more. He had lost his dignity years ago. And her mother was too weak to stop his drinking. Rosie had been the one who had had to put her father to bed every night for eighteen months while her mother took refuge behind the facade of a sordid affair with her boss, a divorcee. And then it had only ended after he had decided to go back to his wife. No, it wasn't only her father who had lost his dignity.

She could remember vividly the first time she had tried dope, the day that she had found out about her mother's affair from one of her classmates. She had felt cheap and degraded, bitter. She had shared a joint with some friends in the toilet. They each had a few tokes and by the time the roach was flushed away she was already experiencing her first rush, a warm, dreamy sensation that seemed to encompass her whole being. She never wanted it to end. A week later she made her first score from a dealer in Times Square. It made putting her father to bed that bit more bearable. She had been smoking dope now for the last year, scoring whenever she had saved up enough money from her weekend job at McDonald's.

Then, the previous day, it had all gone wrong. She had met her connection in the usual place but the moment the deal was struck they were busted by three plainclothes policemen who had been watching them from an unmarked car on the opposite side of the road. They were both frisked then cuffed and taken into custody. It was the most humiliating, and frightening, night of her life. She had never been so glad to see her mother that morning. All she wanted to do was get out of the cell. It stank of vomit and urine. And for those few hours after she got home she found she could talk to her mother properly for the first time in over two years. There was even a bond of understanding between them. Then her father had come home. All he had done was scream abuse at her, accusing her of bringing shame and disgrace on the family. The double standards appalled her. It was then she knew she couldn't stay there, not with him. She knew she was violating her bail conditions by being in the Rollercoaster but she also knew she would be perfectly safe if she kept a low profile. And she knew Kenny would look after her…

'What you drinking, sweetheart?'

The voice startled her but when she looked round she winced at the stale smell of alcohol on the man's breath. He was wearing a grey suit, his tie undone at the throat. She estimated he was in his early thirties.

'You're real pretty,' he said and reached out his hand to touch her face.

'Back off,' she snapped and jerked away.

'Hey, leave my girl alone,' Doyle said from behind the counter.

The man eyed Doyle contemptuously then muttered something to himself and moved to another table and sat down.

'Thanks,' she said, squeezing Doyle's hand.

'Any time,' Doyle replied. 'How's the bourbon?'

'I'm O K, thanks. Anyway, I haven't got — '

'How many times must I tell you? The drinks are on the house tonight.'

'Why are all the best guys either married or… like you?'

'You're too young to be so cynical," Doyle said. 'You'll meet the right guy some day.'

'Then what? Take him home to meet my parents?' she replied with a look of mock horror.

Doyle chuckled then left her to serve a customer. She looked slowly around the room. It wasn't busy, not yet. But give it another hour. She was about to reach for her drink when she caught sight of the car out of the corner of her eye as it pulled up on the opposite side of the road-a white BMW, identical to the one her uncle had. She held her breath as the driver's door opened. Whitlock got out. A moment later Eddie Kruger emerged from the passenger side and closed the door behind him.

'Kenny!' Rosie hissed, beckoning the barman towards her.

'What is it?'Doyle asked.

'It's my father. And he's brought my uncle with him,' she said, indicating with her head towards the BMW where Whitlock and Kruger were in conversation.

Doyle took a set of keys from his pocket, removed one, and gave it to her. 'It's for the back door. You know where it is?'

'Is it that one next to the men's room?'

He nodded. 'It leads into an alley behind the bar. Wait there. I'll get rid of them, don't worry. I'll send someone out to call you when they've gone.'

She made her way down the corridor that led off from the bar room, continually glancing over her shoulder, half expecting to see either her father or her uncle behind her. She reached the door and unlocked it. Her hands were trembling. She pushed it open and slipped outside, closing it silently behind her. A cold wind had picked up since she had arrived at the bar and she rubbed her arms quickly before picking her way through a sea of discarded newspaper to a metal drum and ducked down behind it, her eyes riveted on the door. She knew Doyle would do his best to protect her but what if they decided to search the place anyway? Including the alley. The wind sliced through the alley and blew a sheet of old newspaper against her leg. She brushed it away then huddled closer to the wall, hugging herself against the cold. A stray mongrel appeared at the end of the alley, its body gaunt from years of neglect. It sniffed the air then made straight for the drum. It stopped abruptly when it saw Rosie, an uncertainty shadowing its haunted eyes. Then it moved closer and began to scratch frantically at the foot of the bin. A rat suddenly darted out from a hole in the side of the drum and she had to bite back the scream that rose in her throat. It scurried over to a pile of old newspapers with the mongrel in close attendance. The mongrel tore savagely at the newspapers and the rat fled further down the alley, desperate for sanctuary. Rosie lost sight of it when it disappeared behind a cardboard box and she turned her attention back to the door. She inhaled sharply when she saw the figure there. It was the man in the grey suit who had tried to pick her up earlier. He was looking at the bin but she didn't know whether he had seen her or not.