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told her there was a fifty in it for her if she called me if Bethany showed up. Jeez what a world. I couldn’t believe that she was just doing this because she wanted money to buy a gold necklace. Although that’s what a social worker who’d interviewed a couple of these girls before turning them over to their parents had told me one night over a beer at the bar.
    â€œOral sex,” he said, wiping the beer from off his mustache. “It’s not a big deal to some of them. It’s like kissing.”
    God. I hadn’t even known what that was at fifteen.
    I tried calling Karim, but his mother hung up on me. Michelle wasn’t home, and neither were the first two names on my list of Bethany’s friends. What I was really hoping, even though I wasn’t going to say this to her parents, was that she hadn’t decided to take off for someplace like New York City or Buffalo with the guy who’d picked her up from Karim’s house, the guy no one knew, because then my chances of finding her were going to go from good to slim to none.
    Around nine that evening, I stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts for a coffee and my chocolate-peanut doughnut fix, then drove over to Satan’s End, a place off of East Genesee Street that showcased punk and hard-core. It looked like Bethany’s type of scene, and I was hoping she’d be there.
    Tonight, according to the handwritten sign at the door, Bad Breath and Scum were playing. Who was going to be there next? Puke and the Amputees? A wall of noise hit me when I walked through the door. I wondered if I could collect workmen’s comp for hearing loss. I looked around. The place was jam-packed full of black-clad and pierced boys and girls, most of whom I placed between the ages of fourteen and twenty, though it was hard to tell. I was scanning the dance floor when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
    â€œWhat do you want?”
    I spun around and glanced up. A granite block of a man with the blond curly hair of a Botticelli angel was staring down at me.
    â€œI’m looking for someone.” And I showed him Bethany’s picture.
    â€œYou her mother?”
    â€œNo. I’ve been hired to find her.”
    â€œWhat’s she done?”
    â€œShe’s a runaway.” I was yelling to make myself heard. “Have you seen her?”
    â€œThese kids all look the same to me.”
    â€œMind if I look around?”
    â€œAs long as you don’t cause any problems—no.”
    I nodded and started walking through the place. The kids ignored me, pretending I wasn’t there. When I tried to show them Bethany’s picture, they all shook their heads and averted their eyes. There were lots of kids that looked like Bethany—maybe she was even there—but between the lighting and the constant motion, it was difficult to tell. I found a relatively quiet corner and stood there and watched. After about ten minutes my eyes and ears adjusted, and I spotted Bethany leaning against the wall, sipping something out of a paper cup and watching the band. She looked lonely standing there by herself.
    â€œBethany?” I said once I’d worked my way over to her.
    She shot me a glance and started moving away. I grabbed her arm, which in retrospect was a mistake.
    â€œLet me go!” she cried.
    â€œI just want to talk to you.”
    She tried to wiggle out of my grasp. “You’re hurting me.”
    I tightened my grip. “Your parents want you to come home.”
    â€œTell them to screw themselves.”
    â€œBethany... please... all I want to do—”
    â€œGet away from me!” she screamed.
    By now we’d begun to attract a considerable amount of attention.
    â€œShe’s trying to kidnap me!” Bethany yelled. “Help, help!”
    Suddenly, we were surrounded. Everyone was yelling things like “Let her go” and “Leave her alone.”
    The next thing I knew, my feet had left the