They worked their way out of Allure, walked the rest of the block, and cut around to the alley. Traffic was still steady in the Central West End at this time, headlights bobbing across the asphalt, parking meters full with people stopping for dinner or groceries or a nightcap. The alley that ran behind Allure was out of another, older world, though, from a time before the money from the hospital and the college had produced a steady revitalization of the neighborhood. The brick pavement was old, sunken, individual bricks angled against each other. Splintered telephone poles limped along one side of the alley, and on the other, ancient security lights cut yellow ovals out of the darkness. It was a reminder that this area was a bubble, and outside that bubble lurked one of the most dangerous cities in America.

Jack was already outside, sitting on an overturned crate, his legs kicked out. Long legs. White, low-cut sneakers. No socks. He turned his head up and frowned when he saw Shaw.

“Come on, I told you—”

“I know, I know. I just want to ask you some questions.”

“Well, can’t your buddy wait somewhere else? I could get us some drinks.”

“Shaw—”

“No.” Christ, Shaw’s speech was already blunted around the edges, and he kept blinking into the security light and trying to focus on Jack. “I’m the det—”

“Sorry,” North said. “He’s not really a drinker.”

“Right.” Jack’s crossed his long legs at the ankle. He kept thumbing the filter on his cigarette. And then he shot his eyes straight at North. “Look, I’ve got seven minutes left on my break, and I fucking hate this kind of stuff, so I’m just going to tell you I think you’re hot. I get off at eleven. I was kind of hoping you’d let me take you out for dinner or a drink or something. Like, a chance to get to know you without a bunch of middle-aged barflies listening.” In a lower voice, he added, “And maybe without your buddy hanging on you.”

North wanted to squeeze his eyes shut. “Thanks. I’m flattered. Really. You’re a good-looking kid—”

“I’m not a kid.” Jack’s long legs crissed and crossed again at the ankle, and he scrubbed the heel of the low, white sneakers on the broken brick paving. “I’m twenty-two. I’m at Chouteau, and I’m finishing up a computer science degree. I’m assistant manager here, and I’m really young but that didn’t stop me, and I’ve got an internship lined up for the summer. I’m not just some deadweight at a bar, ok? I think we could really hit it off if you gave me a chance.”

“Kid—”

“You’re, what, like twenty-three, twenty-four? Come on, one drink. It can even be here, at the end of my shift.”

“He’s married,” Shaw said. And he said it too loud, leaning too close toward Jack, wobbling and then catching himself on a dumpster and throwing North a pathetic look. “North, I shouldn’t have had that whiskey. I know I told you I liked it but—” He gagged. His face was the color of discount toothpaste.