But of course it wasn’t him. He’d already joined the crowd of stewed monkeys at the High Striker, waiting to try their luck with the mallet. The game was rigged; all the games were rigged. Pin knuckled her eyes, tasted something sour at the back of her mouth. Kept moving.

Chapter 30

Chapter 30

IT WAS LATE when Max finally sat down in his apartment and counted out his day’s earnings. Seven dollars and thirty-five cents. A pathetic haul for a Saturday. He stared at the piles of coins, trying to recall where the spare dime had gone; then remembered he’d given that punk Pin a dime in addition to his streetcar fare. The kid’s mother must be a whore—fortune-tellers often were, especially if there was no husband in tow. But she could still feed her kid.

Slut, he thought, and poured himself another tumbler of whiskey. It scorched his throat, burning away the memory of Pin’s half-starved face, the postcard image of a childlike woman with a waist no bigger than a doll’s. Tomorrow was Sunday: the park would be crowded, and by late afternoon men would be lined up three-deep in front of his tent. He’d be able to make up for today’s shortfall if he kept his head clear. He finished the whiskey and stumbled off to bed.

Chapter 31

Chapter 31

SHE FOUND IKIE and Mugsy in the alley behind the Kansas Cyclone building, sitting on upturned barrels. Ikie waved her over.

“Want one?” He jabbed a thumb at a paper cone of fried potatoes in his lap. “Clyde told me you got a case of the crazies. All hopped up about kidnappers.”

Pin wolfed down a potato, staring at the beer bottle in Mugsy’s hand. “Gimme some of that and I’ll tell you what I saw.”

Mugsy hesitated, then gave it to her. “Tastes like piss anyway,” he said.

“You would know,” retorted Pin, and took a swallow of warm beer. “So I’m over by Hell Gate, and I see this guy. He goes into the tunnel with a girl, she’s twelve maybe. He comes out. She doesn’t.”

Ikie made a face. “You sure?”

“Yeah. This other fella I talked to, he saw them, too—kind of a dingbat, he hangs around all day watching kids on the rides.”

“A chester,” sneered Mugsy.

“Maybe. Seems more like he has snakes in his boots. But that’s not the point. I asked Clyde did he see them, but he couldn’t remember. So I go back inside a little while ago and…”

Saying anything more would make it real. She stared down the dark alley. At last she said, “I took one of the boats and hopped out onto the ledge and walked to where Clyde or whoever’s doing Satan is.”

“You did not,” said Ikie.

“I did. That’s where I found her. The girl. Dead.”

Mugsy leaned closer. “How’d she die?”