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I mean, if you told Mr Lacotta about the hooker . . .’
    â€˜Forget about it,’ Mace said. He downed the whiskey, cleared his throat and said, ‘Get some sleep. I’ll roust you at four.’
    Wylie nodded and moved to the bed. He dropped his pants, giving Mace another look at the ridiculous mosquito boxers. He sat on the bed, winced, and pulled a used rubber from under his thigh.
    Mace leaned forward. ‘Oh, lemme get rid of that for you,’ he said.
    Wylie held out the contraceptive.
    Mace turned away from him, shaking his head sadly.

SEVEN
    A ngela Lowell was asleep, her blonde hair fanned out on the pillow. The thick art book she’d been reading lay nearly submerged in the bed’s thick down duvet. Mace stood beside the bed, watching her. She was only partially covered by the duvet. He found her, in peaceful slumber, to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Achingly beautiful.
    Her right arm was raised high on the pillow. Her full right breast had freed itself from the beribboned neckline of her sheer nightgown.
    Something – an intake of his breath, a slight shifting of air current – caused her to stir.
    She opened her eyes. And looked directly at him.
    She smiled at him. For some reason this did not surprise him in the least.
    He bent toward her and she lifted her arms to welcome him, to enfold him. Playfully, she pulled him down on top of her.
    The mere touching of their lips ignited her. Her fingers tightened on his back. She breathed heavily, drawing him toward her with an urgency he, too, was feeling. Her tongue, hot and hard and pointy-tipped, slipped into his mouth.
    She began tearing the clothes from his body. First the white shirt, then the belt. Fingers fumbling.
    He tried to help, but, almost angrily, she insisted on doing the job herself.
    He lay down on the bed and watched her remove his clothes.
    She seemed fascinated by his erection. Lovingly, she began to caress it.
    He moaned. He had not been with a woman in such a long time . . .
    He heard his name being called.
    â€˜No,’ Angela shouted, her lovely brow wrinkled in anger. ‘Not now.’
    She rose up and straddled him, working frantically to place him inside her. He arched his pelvis, feeling the velvety softness yield—
    â€˜Mace,’ Wylie hissed in his ear. ‘You gotta get up.’
    Mace awoke from the dream to a room filled with sunlight. Just a few seconds more . . .
    â€˜What the hell’s so fucking important?’ he asked.
    â€˜Mr Lacotta just crossed the courtyard,’ Wylie said.
    Mace swung his legs around. The nub of the carpet scratched his bare feet. He was still groggy from sleep. And the goddamned dream. ‘What time is it?’
    â€˜Almost ten,’ Wylie said, the statement punctuated by a knock at the door.
    â€˜Why didn’t you wake me earlier?’
    â€˜No reason to. She . . . the subject don’t look like she’s goin’ anywhere,’ Wylie said on his way to the door.
    Paulie Lacotta entered, giving Wylie a manly punch on the arm. ‘How’s the boy?’
    â€˜Fine, Mr Lacotta.’
    Lacotta turned to Mace, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed, yawning. ‘You keeping banker’s hours, Mace?’
    â€˜Mace had the late watch, Mr Lacotta,’ Wylie said. ‘Just hit the sheets a couple hours ago.’
    â€˜Drop by for breakfast, Paulie?’ Mace asked. ‘We’re running a special on cigarettes and booze.’
    Lacotta said to Wylie, ‘He always this funny in the morning?’
    Wylie didn’t know what to say. ‘He just woke up. He’s—’
    â€˜What’s on your mind, Paulie?’ Mace asked.
    â€˜Why don’t you wash your face and comb your hair, Mace. We’ll go for a little sunshine.’
    â€˜Considering it’s you,’ Mace said, ‘I’ll even brush my teeth.’

EIGHT
    â€˜ N ow this is beauty,’ Lacotta said as he