“Come on, Sal.” Major came into view, walking quickly under the stone aggregate structure of the el. Above him, a rain-soaked train rumbled toward the city, random cars livid with graffiti. The traffic rolled again and a truck blocked Devlin’s view of Major. “Your kid came around to my girlfriend’s place last night and picked up the key to my apartment.”

“The hell! Just a minute.” The mouthpiece on the other end was suddenly muffled. Outside in the rain, a white Lincoln turned under the el, the driver looking through his open window, back toward the restaurant. An expensive car with all the goodies, including a cellular telephone. U-turn. Sal came back. “Mr. Devlin? Jesus says he didn’t go to your girlfriend’s place last night. Look, is she saying he got wise with her?”

“No, no.” Whoever had come to Eileen’s door had not wanted access to Devlin’s apartment. Somebody had gotten that months ago. So what had been accomplished?

Somebody had visually identified Eileen.

The white Lincoln was stopped under the el on Forty-fifth Street, U-turn completed, the driver still looking this way, squinting, the slanting rain pelting him in the face. Major was heading back to the Forty-third Street intersection, the piece of paper bearing the telephone number where Devlin could see it between thumb and forefinger of Major’s right hand. Two guys looking for a parking spot so they can have lunch. An old guy is running an errand. And last night someone eyeballed Eileen—for what? Somebody wanted to see her?

Devlin had to get to her! And to John Lord, or Levine! “Sal, you’re absolutely certain of this kid?”

“Oh, yeah, Mr. Devlin.”

Now the white Lincoln burst through the red light and turned onto Queens Boulevard, its rear end fishtailing on the slick black asphalt. The driver gunned the car down the inside lane across Forty-fourth Street. As the car passed the restaurant, Devlin could see the passenger leaning across the driver toward the open window. Half a block in front of them, Major stepped up to the curb.

“Mr. Devlin?” Sal asked.

Devlin let the telephone drop as the Lincoln slowed as it approached Major. Devlin’s mouth was hanging open. He knew it; he could feel the first surge of adrenaline roaring through his body.

“Hey!” he yelled.

He could feel people in the restaurant turn toward him. The Lincoln was in front of Major, at a crawl, as Devlin hit the sidewalk, skidding, almost losing his balance. An Asian couple was standing beside Major, looking toward the city.

“Hey!”