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after Nick. "Come on, five more minutes. Can't we talk for five more rucking minutes?"
    Martin grabbed Nick's shoulder. Without stopping, Nick pivoted and swung. The blow snapped Martin's head back. Fury flew into his eyes; he glared at Nick, and Nick glared back.
    A slow grin surfaced on Martin's wide, fleshy face. He shrugged and held up his hands, signaling he was through. Nick backed up a step. He waited. But Martin didn't attack, he didn't move at all. Nick dropped his fists.
    He was half turned around when Martin tackled him. Nick landed in the gravel of the shoulder, his face inches from the edge of the expressway. Cars raced by, humming speed. Martin pressed Nick deeper into the pebbles, his face closer to the edge. "Do it, Marty. Take my fucking head off. Go ahead, do it."
    But Martin only pulled Nick to his feet. "I wish to God I could. It would put you out of your misery."
    He shoved Nick back toward the limo. When Spier stepped out, Martin had Nick firmly pinned against it.
    Nick met Spier's eyes. The older man's were hard and flat. Without blinking, he slapped Nick, hard enough to knock him down if Martin hadn't been holding him.
    The power of it brought tears to Nick's eyes, but he blinked them away. His lip burned, and he tasted blood. But he kept his gaze on Spier. "What the hell do you want?'
    Spier touched Nick's face, caressing his cheek and the cut lip. "I don't like to hurt you, Nicky. But I will."
    Nick made himself stand still. "Go ahead. You think I give a fuck?"
    Spier smiled and patted Nick's cheek. "There are many ways of hurting. Not all of them draw blood." He signaled to Martin to release his hold, then continued in a quiet voice. "We had a son, Shelley and I. A boy. He's disappeared. I want you to find him for me." He took out a pristine white handkerchief and handed if to Nick," indicating the blood on his face. "I need you, Nicky. Don't disappoint me again."
    They bustled Nick into the car. This time Martin sat in the back, blocking Nick's access to the door. A thousand questions ran through his head, but he couldn't find his voice to ask a single one.
    "I have a meeting," Rennie said. "Martin will tell you the rest."
    They unloaded him and Martin in front of a diner, where the two of them sat in .edgy truce in a red leatherette booth. Nick ordered coffee and stared at the thin film of grease in the slowly congealing liquid, his thoughts thick and slow as sludge. Across the table, Martin's big frame hunched over a Greek salad. Spearing chunks of feta cheese, he gestured with his fork.
    "Three months ago Shelley started disappearing every Sunday. Rennie thought she was getting some on the side, so he sent me after her. She's seeing a guy all right, but he's three feet tall and can't tie his shoes."
    "How... how old is he?"Nick asked.
    "Six," Martin said. "Almost six."
    A ripple of silence passed between them. Did Marty know about Nick and Shelley? Nick had never said a word. He could only assume Shelley hadn't either.
    Martin kept his gaze on his plate, fishing for a tomato. "She ran away after you left. Nearly drove Rennie out of his mind. First you, then her. Don't think he didn't put two and two together, either, because he did. But you weren't exactly keeping a low profile in the drunk tank, so we knew you weren't together. Shelley..." He shrugged. "She just disappeared."
    Nick thought about that year, the year after he left Rennie. It was still a blur. An unending nightmare of sleeplessness, of drinking to keep the dream away, of scrounging whatever he could to keep from going back. Stealing, begging, nodding off on park benches until the dream woke him or the police woke him. Shelley had been smart not to tell him she was leaving. He would have sold her back to Rennie for the price of a six-pack.
    "When did she come back?"
    "A year later. Broke, sorry. And Rennie, you know him, he hits her a few times to remind her, and then all is forgiven. He buys her a new fur, new rings-the stuff she'd