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He clasped his hands on the crown of his head and bent his elbows in close to his face. "Oh, God, they're gonna come get me." Franks danced from one foot to the other, his hands dropping off his head to massage the back of his neck. "Off Furman or Doughty, maybe. Near the bridge. Called T-Kup."

    "Teacup?"

    "Yeah, that's right. I think. Shit, I was so fucked up."

    "You and Mr. Calderon went there to buy drugs?"

    Franks laughed, then sniffed and wiped his nose on his shirt sleeve. "We broke into the place—Jeff did, I kept watch outside. He never came out. Fucking sick bastards. He was in there forever. I left. Said fuck it. He finally showed up five or six days ago. Said he got away and had been sleeping in a dumpster for a couple of days. No sooner gets here and he starts getting really sick, man. Blood and shit coming out his nose and ears and everywhere." Franks turned his head and grimaced. "I never seen nothing like that kinda shit. Scared the hell out of me. I tried to get him to go to the clinic, but he was afraid they'd find out about what we done and he'd end up in jail. At first he thought he was going to get better, but he was fuckin' dying, man. Finally, he could barely open his eyes. Just laid there."

    Franks motioned toward the couch and the bloody rag. "Watched TV
    sometimes. In and out of it, like a really bad trip. Got to where he didn't make good sense. Confused, you know, really mixed up. Once he thought I was his friggin' mother for Christ's sake. Freaked me out. Then he saw some bitch on TV
    and said he was gonna go find her. Tell her what happened. Like he could just get up, get dressed, and head into the city all perky like. I told him his ass wasn't going nowhere, not the way he was, but he swore he was gonna try—had to see her about what those bastards done to him."

    Franks' eyes widened as if he noticed Cotten for the first time. He studied her for a minute. "Fuckin' A," he said, running his hands over his face, obviously making the connection. "It was you. Is this gonna be on the news?" Franks tugged at his hair. "No TV, lady. Oh, sweet Jesus, they'll see it and come for me."

    "No, Mr. Franks. No TV. You don't have to worry about that." Cotten tried to calm him. "Just tell me what happened."

    "I took off a couple of days ago—didn't want to catch whatever Jeff got. Put my stuff in a plastic bag and bailed, man. Was sleeping on the street—
    anything's better than being around whatever the fuck got him so sick. Then I hear that Jeff's picture is all over the news and that he's dead. So I come back

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    here this morning to get the rest of my shit." Franks started to pace, turning his back to Cotten, his hands on top of his head again. He seemed to forget she was there. "God damn."

    "Mr. Franks, did Mr. Calderon say what happened to him?"

    Suddenly, Franks became even more agitated. "Jeff said he didn't tell them about me being outside keeping watch, but I don't know." He wiped the sweat from his hands on the front of his shirt. "I don't fucking know. They're gonna come get me. Give me the same shit." He swabbed the perspiration from his face on his sleeve. "Oh shit, I'm fucked. That's it. No more talk. Get out." He started for the door.

    Following him, Cotten asked, "Was there anything else he said? Anything at all?"

    He nudged her into the hall and slammed the door. As Cotten heard the clunking of the deadbolts, Franks yelled, "Said they used him like a fuckin' lab rat."

    T-KUP

    Cotten stared at the New York City business directory on her computer monitor and the results of her search for businesses calledtea cup and any derivative of the words. There was a knick-knack store selling miniature dragon and wizard fantasy figures, an Asian tea parlor specializing in exotic imported tea and coffee, a Persian rug dealer, a high-end china and crystal specialty store, a pet shop selling tiny dogs, and a few others, none of which were located in the area described by Jimmy Franks.

    "We'll