He couldn’t think of the old man who owned the car without forcing himself to remember the taxi driver up north. Or the last expressions on the face of the man Merrill had shot in the hotel room. It was better if Merrill kept his attention turned instead to getting to midnight and hearing what the big Coasties and the usual suspects in his squadron had worked out.

The next best thing he could do was lay up until he could call again, but he wanted to locate Chino’s house first, if he could. The house itself would tell him how to get into it. He hoped. What did he know about it already? Big enough for a pool. Chino liked being wired for the latest, O’Malley had said, so that meant the house had state-of-the-art electronic surveillance and countermeasures. When Amy had told him she could see the moon, it was still only about thirty degrees above the horizon, so the place almost certainly occupied high ground. The map in the laptop had showed a neighborhood of heavy foliage and orange tile roofs, and O’Malley had said Chino had been located down on the Bocagrande peninsula until fairly recently. And given the fact that Chino’s money-laundering business was well-known, his house had to give the appearance of security. Merrill was envisioning a walled, even fortified, new house in what was probably one of the best neighborhoods in the city.

One sure way in was Ruiz’s telephone. Call them up and let them track him down and come get him. Then he and Amy could die together. Good plan.

The dashboard clock showed five to eleven. He was staying on the main roads, angling eastward, heading for the high ground. One headlight. High beams gave him plenty of light to drive by. He wanted to call this Gregory guy one more time on the chance of being allowed to talk to Amy again. At least she would know he hadn’t given up or been stopped — hell, he had gotten away from them twice since she’d heard from him.

He couldn’t let himself get too cocky. He didn’t know what he’d do if he found the house before midnight. His first thought was that he’d have to withdraw until he could find out what Scott Waller and the others had been able to do for him. But now Merrill’s stomach gurgled. He hadn’t eaten since one o’clock this afternoon, when he’d thought the evening would be filled with pates, filets and cabernets.

And Amy in her little black dress.