Or, more likely, a spoiled brat or neglected adolescent take your pick is playing hooky and having some fun at his parents' expense.

So the question remained: What now?

He thought again about the videotape of Chad at the ATM machine. He didn't go into details with the Coldrens, but it bothered him. Why there? Why that particular ATM machine? If the kid was running away or hiding out, he might have to pick up money. Fine and dandy, that made sense.

But why would he do it at Porter Street?

Why not do it at a bank closer to home? And equally important, what was Chad Coldren doing in that area in the first place? There was nothing there. It wasn't a stop between highways or anything like that. The only thing in that neighborhood that would require cash was the Court Manor Inn. Myron again remembered motelier extraordinaire Stuart Lipwitz's attitude and wondered.

He started the car. It might be something. Worth looking into, at any rate.

Of course, Stuart Lipwitz had made it abundantly clear that he would not talk. But Myron thought he had just the tool to make him change his mind.

Chapter I4

"Smile!"

The man did not smile. He quickly shifted the car in reverse and backed out. Myron shrugged and lowered the camera. It was on a neck strap and bounced lightly against his chest. Another car approached. Myron lifted the camera again.

"Smile!" Myron repeated. .

Another man. Another no smile. This guy managed to duck down before shifting his car into reverse.

"Camera shy," Myron called out to him. ' 'Nice to see in this age of paparazzi overkill."

It didn't take long. Myron had been on the sidewalk in front of the Court Manor Inn for less than iive minutes when he spotted Stuart Lipwitz sprinting toward him. Big Stu was in full custom gray tails, wide tie, a concierge key pin in the suit's lapel. Gray tails at a no-tell motel.

Like a maitre d' at Burger King. Watching Stu move closer, a Pink Floyd song came to mind: Hello, hello, hello, is there anybody out there? David Bowie joined in:

Ground control to Major Tom.

Ah, the seventies.

. "You there," he called out.

"Hi, Stu."

+ No smile this time. "This is private property," Smart Lipwitz said, a little out of breath. "I must ask you to remove yourself immediately. ' '

"I hate to disagree with you, Stu, but I am on a public sidewalk. I got every right to be here."

Smart Lipwitz stammered, then flapped his arms in frustration. With the tails, the movement kind of reminded Myron of a bat. "But you can't just stand there and take pictures of my clientele," he semi whined.

" 'Clientele,' " Myron repeated. "Is that a new euphemism for john?" "I'll call the police."

"Ooooo. Stop scaring me like that."

"You are interfering with my business."

"And you are interfering with mine."