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apprehended the Belly Killer, and outsmarted
both
Roger Vaughs. She could control herself around a pretty boy.
    Marla shook his hand, firmly. “Remember, midnight. And don’t be late, or the deal’s off the table. You’re not the only beautiful boy in the world.” She came around the desk and left the room without giving him another glance.
    Hamil sat reading in his chair, and looked up when she emerged. “That was quick,” he said. “Did you charm him?”
    “He’s in. Tell him how to get to the club. And do you have a coat I can borrow?”

4
    M arla walked briskly through the streets, away from Hamil’s apartment, clear sky making a sunlit dazzle of the snow, though the brightness didn’t lessen the cold. She was deep in her head, far more so than usual, all because of that
boy
. Even knowing Joshua’s loveliness was supernatural, that her attraction to him was a brain-hijack based on pheromones or psychic invasion or something, didn’t change her feelings. She wanted to eat him with a dessert spoon. How was she supposed to work with him? Maybe she’d make Hamil give him all his instructions. Her consiglieri was the most heterosexual person she knew, so he probably saw Joshua as a long-lost son or something, and wouldn’t lose his head around him the way Marla feared she might.
    She walked past a thin man huddled on a grate, paused, and turned back to him. “Hey,” she said. “You’re sitting on Dutch Mulligan’s grate.”
    The man looked up at her, squinting. He wasn’t very old—mid-forties, maybe, and the wings of white in his brown hair at the temples made him seem distinguished. He didn’t have a coat, and even in the heat of the grate, he shivered. “What?” he said. “I’m sorry?”
    Marla crouched before him. “You’re sitting on Dutch Mulligan’s grate. He’s probably out buying a bottle or something, but he’ll be back here, and if he finds you on his grate…well, Dutch will fuck you up.” She shrugged. “Maybe you’re looking to get fucked up, I don’t know, but if not, you’d better move along.”
    The man struggled to his feet. “I didn’t realize I was…trespassing. Thank you.” He was trying for dignity, and almost achieving it, despite his stained pants and the sweet reek of his body odor.
    “How long have you been on the streets?” Marla asked, rising.
    “A few weeks. It wasn’t so bad, until the weather turned.”
    Marla nodded. The winter had been almost mild until a few days ago, when a blizzard came pounding down on them. February was the worst. The city was still digging itself out. “What’s your name?”
    “Ted.” He extended his hand in an automatic gesture that he clearly regretted. He started to pull back his hand, but Marla gripped it and gave it a shake.
    “You’ve got a good handshake, Ted. Tell me something. What kind of drugs are you on?”
    “None. Do I look like I’m on drugs?” He didn’t. He looked offended.
    She shrugged. “If you’re not, you really haven’t been on the streets for long. Would you describe yourself as a detail-oriented person, Ted?”
    “I…why do you ask? Who are you?”
    “I’m the person interviewing you for a job. I’m looking for a personal assistant. You’re my first applicant.”
    “Please leave me alone,” he said, sad and resigned. “You’re mocking me.”
    “Ted. I’m really not. Listen, I’m a busy woman, but if you don’t want the job, I’ll find someone who does.”
    “Nobody hires a…a
street person
.”
    Marla snorted. “I’m not asking you to be a brain surgeon. I need somebody to fetch coffee, file things, take phone calls, and make sure I don’t forget anything important. Do you want the gig or don’t you? If it turns out you
are
drunk or stupid or strung out or something, I’ll fire you, of course.”
    “Ah…I’m not interested in being an indentured servant. What does it pay?”
    “It pays more than you’re making out here on Dutch Mulligan’s grate. You can