"No, but I might not spot Fidel Castro in this crowd. Looks like every biker on the continent is here."

"Crease?"

"No sign."

I heard a hitch in his breathing.

"What?"

"Charbonneau and I did some more checking. From '83 to '89 Lyle Crease was playing foreign correspondent, not secret agent. But the only reports he was filing were with the guard on his cel block."

"He did time?" I asked, unnerved.

"Six years, south of the border."

"Mexico?"

"Juárez."

My heart came back to life and thumped inside my chest.

"Crease is a kil er and Kit may be with him. I've got to do something."

Claudel's voice went cop cold.

"Don't even think about freelancing, Ms. Brennan. These bikers look like sharks smel ing the water for blood, and it could get rough down here."

"And Kit could get sucked into the feeding frenzy!" I heard my voice catch, and stopped to steady myself.

"I'l send a patrol car to pick Crease up."

"Suppose he has funeral plans?"

"If he shows his face, we'l arrest him."

"And if a nineteen-year-old kid gets nailed along the way?" I was almost yel ing.

"Al I'm saying is don't come down here."

"Then find this bastard!"

I'd hardly disconnected when I heard my cel phone.

Kit!

I raced to the bedroom and pul ed it from my purse. The voice was quavery, like a child after a long cry. "You need to know what they're doing."

At first I felt confusion, then recognition, then apprehension. "Who, Jocelyn?"

"Someone needs to know what these Heathen scum are doing." She inhaled sharply through her nose.

"Tel me."

"This town is turning into a slaughterhouse, and your kid is ambling right down the chute."

My stomach went tight with fear.

"What do you mean?"

"I know what's coming down."

"How does this involve my nephew?"

"I need money and I need cover." Her voice was stronger now.

"Tel me what you know."

"Not til we deal."

"I don't have that kind of authority"

"You know who does."

"I wil try to help you," I said. "But I need to know if my nephew is in danger."

Silence. Then, "Fuck, I'm dead anyway. Meet me in the Guy metro in twenty minutes. Westbound platform."

Her voice was leaden with defeat.

"I'l wait ten minutes. If you're late, or bring a buddy, I'm gone, and the kid'l be a footnote when this whole thing is written up."

Dead air.

I dialed Claudel's pager and left my number. Then I stared at the phone, ticking through options.

Claudel was unreachable. I couldn't wait for a return cal .

Quickwater.

Ditto.

Claudel hadn't told me to avoid the underground. I'd meet with Jocelyn, then ring him when I had information.

I punched in the number at Carcajou headquarters, but didn't hit send. Then I slid the phone into my purse, and bolted for the door.