Tower looked at him as if he were crazy. “Of course they have.”

“ ’Kay. Have him put it on the Forty-sixth street side, all the way down where the fence ends. Have you got that?”

“Yes, but—”

“They probably won’t have your bookshop staked out tomorrow morning—they’ll assume you got smart and blew—but if they do, they won’t have the lot staked out, and if they have the lot staked out, it’ll be the Second Avenue side. And if they have the Forty-sixth Street side staked out, they’ll be looking for you, not him.”

Tower was smiling a little bit in spite of himself. Eddie relaxed and smiled back. “But…? If they’re also looking for Aaron?”

“Have him wear the sort of clothes he doesn’t usually wear. If he’s a blue jeans man, have him wear a suit. If he’s a suit man—”

“Have him wear blue jeans.”

“Correct. And sunglasses wouldn’t be a bad idea, assuming the day isn’t cloudy enough to make them look odd. Have him use a black felt-tip. Tell him it doesn’t have to be artistic. He just walks to the fence, as if to read one of the posters. Then he writes the numbers and off he goes. And tell him for Christ’s sake don’t fuck up.”

“And how are you going to find us once you get to Zip Code Whatever?”

Eddie thought of Took’s, and their palaver with the folken as they sat in the big porch rockers. Letting anyone who wanted to have a look and ask a question.

“Go to the local general store. Have a little conversation, tell anyone who’s interested that you’re in town to write a book or paint pictures of the lobster-pots. I’ll find you.”

“All right,” Tower said. “It’s a good plan. You do this well, young man.”

I was made for it,Eddie thought but didn’t say. What he said was, “I have to be going. I’ve stayed too long as it is.”

“There’s one thing you have to help me do before you go,” Tower said, and explained.

Eddie’s eyes widened. When Tower had finished—it didn’t take long—Eddie burst out, “Aw, you’re shittin !”

Tower tipped his head toward the door to his shop, where he could see that faint shimmer. It made the passing pedestrians on Second Avenue look like momentary mirages. “There’s a door there. You as much as said so, and I believe you. I can’t see it, but I can see something .”

“You’re insane,” Eddie said. “Totally gonzo.” He didn’t mean it—not precisely—but less than ever he liked having his fate so firmly woven into the fate of a man who’d make such a request. Such a demand.