“Sneak in?” I leaned over the rail for a look. The river lapped halfway up the tall first story. A small boat could slip in under the blown-out window arches, to tie up at the float moored at the base of the old elevator shaft, but hard to believe that speedster would’ve fit. Still, it was the easiest way in. From there, a ladder climbed to the core of the den. A kayaker bobbed just outside one of the windows, paddle akimbo, peering anxiously into the darkness. Heated voices echoed off the stonework. “Who’s down at the dock?”

“Rousseau. In seconds.” Louka’s small fists punched the air. “He sent ’em packin’!”

“How many?”

“Lots!”

“Two,” corrected the next guy over, the enforcer who’d passed us on the walkway. “The max load on a boat like that. They really thought they had a chance with two?”

“A chance at what?” Rubio arrived like he’d been running hard, though I knew he hadn’t. “They were just yanking our chain, man.”

The guy dry-eyed him. “Who says?”

“The mother went right past me. A dude and a dudess in a sweet little boat. Speedy fucker.” Rubio liked to talk tough with other guys around. “Just a joyride.”

“Maybe one of their treasure hunts,” a deeper voice put in.

“Treasure?” Louka was petite and pretty, even in picker duds, if you ignored the scars beneath her oversized cap brim. Also, still young enough to believe shrill girly astonishment was alluring. Which apparently it was, as all the guys turned her way, even Rubio.

“Not real treasure,” Deep Voice supplied. “More like, y’know, go find an old dog collar with the license still on. Or a readable MetroCard.”

The enforcer grinned. “Or a den girl’s damp panties.”

“Euww!” squealed Louka.

I swung away, adrenaline draining. Panties? As if. Most of us wore anything we could get clean enough: cut-off sweats, men’s old jockey shorts, whatever. Meanwhile, the rain was coming down hard again, and I’d had it. At the narrow main entrance from the walkway, the only sentry still on the job was the one-armed watch dude. Did he ever sleep? He took my password, frisked me soberly for weapons, and sent me on through.

Another pumped-up crowd jammed the mudroom, where the entry ramp dropped through a third-story window into the old elevator lobby. The chatter was deafening. Clearly the most excitement we’d had in weeks. The dim space smelled of sweat, mold, wet work clothes, and used-up oxygen. The water-stained walls were lined with hooks and cubbies to stash dirty boots and rain ponchos before invading the cleaner areas of the den.