Half an hour later, as I turned onto Gateway Terrace, I thought that community was a strange word for a collection of houses that isolated people so thoroughly. Each house—if that’s what you call something with twenty rooms and four chimneys—was set so far back behind trees and fences that you saw only fragments of facades or gables. There weren’t any sidewalks, since no one could possibly walk to town—or rather, mall—from this distance. I passed a handful of kids on bikes and was passed in turn by a Jaguar XJ–8—top down to showcase a woman with blond hair whipping behind her—and a black Mercedes sedan. That was all the street life Gateway Terrace offered me before I reached number fifty–three. Quite a contrast to the crowded, littered streets of Uptown.

I stopped the battered Skylark at the gate and looked for a way in. A large sign told me the premises were protected by Total Security Systems (a division of Carnifice Security) and that the fence was electrified so not to try to climb over it. I wondered if one of those spikes at the top had caused the damage to Nicola Aguinaldo’s abdomen. She ran away from Coolis to this house, seeking help from her old boss, impaled herself, and they dumped her near her apartment, waiting for someone like me to come along who could take the fall for her injuries.

As I was scanning the property I became aware that someone on the other side was inspecting me. A round–faced boy of ten or so stepped forward when he realized I’d spotted him. He was wearing jeans and a T–shirt with the Space Berets—Global’s big action toy—on it.

“Hi,” I called through the fence. “I’m V. I. Warshawski, a detective from Chicago. Your mother is expecting me.”

“You’re supposed to phone the house,” he said, coming closer and pointing to a recessed case with a phone in it.

The steel case was so sleek I’d overlooked it. As my hand moved toward the cover it slid back with a whisper, but before I could reach for the phone inside the boy opened the gates for me himself.

“I’m not really supposed to do this, but if you’re with the Chicago police I guess it’s okay. Is there something wrong with Nicola?”

I was startled, and wondered if his mother had complained to him. “What makes you think that?”

“The only time the cops were here before was when Mom had them arrest Nicola. Or does she want you to take Rosario this time?”