By the time I got back to Karen Lloyd’s, the sun was settiing comfortably in the trees to the west and the arctic air had made its predicted move down from Canada, dropping the temperature and clouding the skies.

Joe Pike was sitting in one of the wing chairs with the cat in his lap and Karen Lloyd was making noise in her kitchen. I had the car, but Pike beat me back. One of life’s imponderables. I said, “You made good time.”

“I followed the kid with the pimples to an apartment building on Broadway and 96th Street. Name on the post drop was Richard Sealy.”

“Aha. Richie.”

“Un-hunh. I called Rollie a little bit after you. He’ll run a make.”

There was more noise from the kitchen. Heavy glass tumblers set hard on a counter. “You been here long?”

“Long enough.”

More noise. Drawers slamming shut. I looked toward the noise, but Pike didn’t. “Everything okay?”

“Nope.” Pike’s mouth twitched.

Karen Lloyd came out of the kitchen with a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Her mouth was narrow and tight, and she took short, quick steps. She said, “We’re having the Colonel. I want you to come here and look at this.” She put the Colonel on the table and went back through the kitchen toward the garage. I looked back at Pike. “You get it like this, too?”

Pike’s mouth twitched again.

I went back through the kitchen. Karen was standing in the laundry room at the door to the garage with her arms crossed. The door to the garage was open. “Look at what that bastard did.”

I thought she meant Charlie DeLuca, but she didn’t. A gleaming new blue and white Yamaha snowmobile was parked next to her LeBaron. “It’s going back. I told Peter about the gifts. I thought we had it straight, but this is what I find waiting for me when I got home with Toby.” No questions about the mafia. No Did you discover what’s going on? No Did you find out where he gets the money? No Are we going to get out of this alive?

I said, “That louse.”

She turned red. “It’s not an appropriate gift. Toby’s too young.”

“Sure.”

“It’s dangerous. Can’t you see that?”

“It’s not as dangerous as motorcycles, and I don’t think it’ll skew your son’s values if he gets a nice gift from his father.”

She shut the door on the garage. “I wouldn’t think that you’d understand.”