“Like a sexpot manatee, dude.”

“So you went out with her once. So what? Let’s go.”

Herk shakes his head vigorously.

“Why not? What are you, fifteen years old?”

Herk won’t even turn around.

“She probably won’t even recognize you.”

“Can’t take that chance, bro.”

“What did you do that was so bad?”

He shrugs. “She’s got a sister. A big big sister, if you know what I mean....”

“Oh, Christ. Don’t be such a baby. I don’t even see anyone that looks like her, and we don’t have that much time.”

I yank on Herk and, slowly, like a tree being uprooted from wet earth, he starts to give.

“One condition. You go first. Go down to the next block and use that vision of yours to tell me if the coast is clear. And give me your hat.” Immediately he presses my tam-o’-shanter to his face, exposing only his dirt-camouflaged eyes, and breathes in relief. “That’s better.”

“Good. Let’s go, already.”

I cross Eighty-sixth, cast about for the Goldfish in the intersection and on the corner, see no sign of her, push down another block, search again and again see nothing, and wave Herk in.

“Thank God the hard part’s done. Now let’s go commit a crime,” he says, making my heart wince.

“What are we going to do, dig our way in?”

We are outside of Schermer’s building. It’s nicer than I expected. Doorman, underground parking, balconies. Through the glass of the lobby I can’t see an infinity pool or peacocks running around but you get the idea that the management is looking into it.

“Or are we knocking out the parking attendant? Please tell me we’re not knocking anyone out. I’m not going to—”

“Relax. There is no attendant. Just us and the parking gate. Now use that zoom of yours and tell me if you see any cameras in there.”

Through the bars of the garage I scan for cameras. It’s poorly lit, and the concrete castings, support beams, and overhead sprinklers make it tough, but I don’t see anything obvious.

“Not that I can tell, anyway.”

“Good enough for me,” he says. “Now just wait a few minutes for the foot traffic to die down...”

As we sit there, being ignored, I ask Herk what’s else he’s got in the bag.

“A-Team stuff. Spray paint if there are cameras. Ski masks. Lock pick. Dirt—you want some? Bottle of Night Train. Good and Plentys. Game Boy, if we get bored. Glock. You wanna do a Mad Lib?”

“A what?”

“Mad Lib. They’re easy. You just—”

“No. Glock. I thought I heard you say ‘Glock.’ ”

He pulls the matte-black handle out of the bag, finger perilously close to the trigger.

“This?”

“You brought a fucking gun? A gun, Herk? Are you insane?”

“People often shoot at burglars, you know.”

“We’re not burglars! And we’re not shooting back at anybody!”

“If someone shoots at you, you might change your mind.”

“You’re aware that most people who carry guns end up getting shot with them?”