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hat, aye … funny hat, with a point in the center and them flaps on the side, on the ears? All of him clear, his clothes and all, ‘ceptin …” She raised a hand to her face, patted trembling fingers beneath one eye.
    “His eyes?” The chill creeping up Chess’s spine had nothing to do with the temperature of the air.
    “Not his eyes,” Laria said, and it came out like the low moan of a wounded animal. “Hers.”
    “What?”
    Laria started to cry. “Him were wearin she eyes.”

Chapter Four
You must always be vigilant in guarding against the desires of the flesh. Even those acts not deemed illegal can stain the soul in some situations.
— The Book of Truth , Rules, Article 278
    The knock on the door came just when she’d started to think it wouldn’t. Typical Lex. She opened it, determined not to let her tiredness loosen her lips.
    Of course there were other things to do with those. Despite the way she’d hung up on him earlier, he seemed to be in a good mood—at least his kiss indicated he was. She was almost dizzy by the time he pulled away and set a plastic baggie in her hand. More pills.
    “Plan on giving me the clapperclaw, Tulip?” His dark eyes gleamed with amusement—or desire. She didn’t bother to analyze.
    “It’s no more than you deserve, being so flippant. I thought I was going to get killed in that damn alley.”
    “But you ain’t killed.” He opened her fridge and grabbed a couple of beers. “Look, you still here. So whyn’t you tell me what was on the happening?”
    She stiffened. “Why do you want to know?”
    “Ain’t I allowed some curiosity? You get stuck in the middle of some road brawl, I can’t ask why you was there in the start? Why you always so mean to me?”
    “I’m not mean.”
    “Aye, you sure is mean.” He kissed her forehead and handed her an opened beer. She watched him slump gracefully onto the couch and lean back, his Buzzcocks T-shirt riding up to expose a thin line of flat stomach. “Especially after I called them men off. But no matter. Come on in here and sit down.”
    She drank off half her beer in one nervous swig. She did not want to sit down. If she put herself within easy reach of him, they’d never get around to discussing anything, even if she wasn’t still jacked from the sex magic around that poor dead girl. “Tell me what you meant first.”
    “Meant by what?”
    “You know what. You said it was about time Bump got some payback. What did that mean?”
    “You ain’t really wanna talk about dead folks and that Bump, do you? I ain’t seen you in a week.”
    “Just tell me what you meant, and then we can talk about anything you want.”
    She didn’t want to ask him if Slobag’s men were responsible for the dead girl. Didn’t want to ask, because fear coiled in her stomach when she thought about what his answer might be. Payback could mean a lot of things, yes, and she honestly couldn’t believe he would have anything to do with men who would cut the eyeballs out of a human head, living or not. But still …
    Finally he shrugged. “Lot goes on here, you know that. Sometimes people turn up dead, and no way of knowing who did the killing.”
    “That’s not an answer.”
    “You ain’t asked a question.”
    “Do you know anything about the dead girl? Do you—do you know who killed her?”
    He didn’t act offended, or as though he didn’t understand the question. That, more than the way his gaze grabbed hers and held, made her believe him. “Nay, Tulip. Ain’t had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. Don’t know who does—order ain’t come down from us, dig?”
    The breath she hadn’t realized she was saving left her in a quiet rush, only to catch again when he said, “Coursen, Bump ain’t say the same thing.”
    “What?”
    “You hearing right. Can’t say as that girl ain’t payback from somebody decided to take matters into they own hands.”
    Without thinking Chess reached into the baggie he’d given her, still