G is for Gumshoe (Kinsey Millhone 7)

Messinger pushed us away from the building. "Hey, pal. Over here. Look what I got."

For a moment, the five of us formed a tableau. I felt like we were part of a pageant, some community theater group acting out a well-known scene from history. No one moved. Messinger had removed his hand from my mouth, but none of us said a word.

Finally, Eric seemed to perk up. "Daddy?"

"Hey, big fella. How're you doin'? I came to pick you up."

Rochelle said, "Mark, let me have him back. I beg you. You've had him eight months. Let him stay with me. Please."

Despite the distance between us, the voices carried easily.

"No way, babe. That's my kid. Tell you what, though. I'll make a deal. I get Eric. You get Kinsey. Fair enough?"

Dietz glanced at Rochelle. "He won't hurt Eric-"

Rochelle lashed out at Dietz. "Shut up! This is between us."

"He'll kill her," Dietz said.

"I don't give a shit!" she snapped.

Messinger cut in. "Excuse me, Dietz? I hate to interrupt, but you're never going to win an argument with her. She's a hardheaded bitch. Believe me, I know."

Dietz was silent, looking at nun. Rochelle had put her arms around Eric possessively, holding him against her, much as Messinger held me.

Messinger was concentrating on Dietz for the moment. "I'd appreciate your taking your gun out, pal. Could you do that? I don't want to have to blow this lady's brains out quite yet. I thought you might like to say good-bye to each other first."

"How serious are you about a deal?" Dietz said.

"Let's do the gun first, okay? Then we'll negotiate. I have to tell you I'm feeling tense. I got a.45 with the safety off and the trigger only takes two pounds of pressure. You might want to move kind of slow."

Dietz seemed to proceed in slow motion, removing his gun from the middle-of-the-back holster he was wearing under his tweed sport coat. He held the barrel upright and removed the magazine, which he tossed out on the pavement. I could hear the metal clatter on concrete as he kicked it away. He tossed the gun over his shoulder into the dark. He held his hands up, palm out.

Dietz and I exchanged a look. I could feel Messinger's tension through the bones of my back. I was warmer, laid up against him, and if I didn't move my head, I was hardly aware of the gun barrel. The length of it, with the suppressor attached, prevented him from pointing it, end on, at my head. He was forced to hold it at an angle. I wondered if the sheer weight of it wasn't becoming burdensome.

Messinger was apparently watching Dietz with care. "Very nice. Now why don't you persuade Rochelle to cooperate. See if you can talk her into it because if not, I'm about to collect on this fifteen-hundred-dollar hit."

Rochelle said, "Why don't you ask Eric what he wants to do?"

Messinger's tone was condescending. "Because he's too young to make a decision about his own custody. Jesus Christ, Rochelle. I don't believe some of the shit you come up with. That's just the kind of attitude makes you a terrible parent, you know that? If he stayed with you, you'd turn him into some kind of little fruit. Now let's cut the horseshit and make a little trade here. Just send Eric over and we'll see what we can do."

Dietz looked at Rochelle. "Do what he says."

She said nothing. She stared at Messinger and then her gaze shifted over to me. "I don't believe you. You'll kill her anyway."

"No, I won't," he said, as if falsely accused. "That's why I brought her out here, to trade. I'd never welsh on a deal where my kid is concerned. Are you nuts?"

Dietz said to her, "You'll have another chance to get Eric back. I promise. We'll help you. Just do this for now."

Even at that distance, I could see her face crumple. She gave Eric a little push. "Go on…" She was starting to cry, hands shoved down in her coat pockets.

Eric hesitated, looking from her face to his father's.

"It's all right, angel," she said. He began to walk toward us rapidly, head down, his face hidden.

Messinger's grip on me tightened and I could smell the tawny sweat of sex oozing out of his pores. Time seemed to slow as the kid crossed the pavement. All I could hear was the sound of the wind chuffing across the runway.

Eric reached us. I'd never really seen him up close. His face was like a valentine, all pink cheeks, blue eyes, long lashes. So vulnerable. His ears stuck out slightly and his neck seemed too thin. "Don't hurt her, Daddy."