“Hey, the world is full of wants. I want. You want.”

Two men slipped into French’s blind spot; he noticed but didn’t care. “Do you know where he is or not?” Manning showed both palms and a second smile that made French feel sick inside. He shouldn’t have to do this. He should know where to find his own son. “You have a kid, right? A daughter?”

Manning stopped smiling. “Don’t compare the two.”

“I’m only saying…”

“Your son’s a junkie. My daughter is eight.”

“But as a father…”

“I don’t give a shit about that.”

“What, then?”

“Favors.” Manning leaned forward in his seat. “I’ll go first to show you how it works. I haven’t sold to your son. That’s a favor, and that’s for free. I can tell you where he is, too, but it’ll cost you.”

“A favor in return.”

“A cop favor.”

French took a steadying breath. The men around him were bottom-feeders, the worst. He wanted to arrest them all or beat them until his hands bled. “I’m not asking for a kidney,” he said. “The favor will be commensurate.”

“That’s a nice word.”

“Where is he, Jimmy? I won’t ask again. I walk and the favor walks with me.”

Manning settled back in the chair. Three beats, and then five. “You know Charlie Spellman?” he asked, finally.

“Should I?”

“Two-bit dealer. Wannabe player. He has a house at Water Street and Tenth, one of those little rentals. Your boy crashes there.”

“If the information’s good, I’ll owe you one.”

“Yes, you will, Detective. One commensurate fucking favor.”

French made his way down the filthy hall, ignoring the laughter that trailed him. He felt angry and unclean, and took those feelings all the way to Water Street and Tenth, a quiet intersection in a working-class neighborhood of small houses with small yards, of people good and bad. He’d known the area since his years as a uniformed rookie. Most calls were for domestic disturbances or vandalism or public drunkenness. There was little violent crime, almost never a homicide. Taking his time to study the houses near the intersection, he keyed the radio, and asked dispatch for the make and model of any vehicle owned by one Charlie Spellman. It didn’t take long.

“Records show a 1969 Ford Maverick, license number LMR-719, registered to Charles Spellman, DOB 9/21/50.”

“Thanks, Dispatch. Got it.”