Chapter 2

“Give me a week,” I said. “I’ll call you when

I have something. And I keep the photo.”

Now Tiffany’s pout pulled into a slow, sultry

smile. Too late,I thought—I’d already seen it, already fell

for it on someone else. In a low voice, she purred, “A thousand

dollars is a small price to pay to have my brother back. How else

can I thank you?”

I held the photograph up between us and gave

her a curt grin. “This is payment enough,” I assured her. I plucked

the check from her hand and added, “I’ll be in touch.”

* * * *

My first stop was DJ Danny’s, a gay club in

the Castro that catered to a wild bunch. DJ was an old-school

player, one of those fat black guys that make you wonder why they

have no trouble getting laid. He lounged at a low table in the

back, watching the dance floor through a thick haze of smoke. As I

approached, he patted the seat beside him. I took it and slid the

photograph his way. “You seen this kid?” I wanted to know.