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He didn’t care about finding Annie-she could go where she wanted. Ten minutes, that’s all he’d want with her. Ten minutes and the flat of his hand to show her she couldn’t get away with treating him like this.

But Laurel, that was different. If he could just get his daughter back, there ought to be some way of getting a hold of that trust money of hers. He’d mentioned it to a lawyer at the karate club, who told him that, with things being so tight and all, he could file some kind of petition.

Val let himself imagine a nice house, nothing as grand as this maybe, but classy, Westwood Village or Pacific Palisades. And he knew a guy who had an inside at the track … a way he could double, maybe even triple his money.

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But first, he’d have to find Laurel. Without her, he wouldn’t have a chance in hell of breaking into that trust.

And then, when he had her back, he’d make damn sure Annie Cobb never saw her again. Yeah, wouldn’t that be a great way of teaching her to mess with him?

Fifty laps. Val grabbed hold of the ladder, and hoisted himself out of the pool. He was breathing hard now, heart pounding, blood pistoning through his veins.

“Jesus, how can you swim in that muck?” A gravelly voice penetrated the red tide surging in his ears. “You oughta get it cleaned.”

Val focused his bleary, chlorine-stung eyes on the stubby figure sprawled on a nearby chaise. As always, he felt a tiny prick of incredulity. No one in a million years would guess that Rudy was his brother. A full foot shorter, squat, balding, and ugly—uglier than Val, even in his worst nightmares, could imagine being.

In his Hawaiian shirt and Pepto-Bismol-pink shorts, his round face and stubby legs pinkening under a glistening coat of tanning oil, Rudy reminded him of a roast pig at a luau.

“With what?” Val grabbed a towel and flung himself into the nearest deck chair. “You think the old lady fixed it so I’d be left with anything?” He gestured at the weed grown expanse of lawn below the patio. “The Alfa and the Lincoln, you think I got more than peanuts for them? Even this house is a fucking joke. By the time I get through paying off what’s left of the mortgage, plus the bills and back taxes on this mausoleum, I won’t have a pot to piss in. If I still had Laurel, things might be different, but-” Val’s words were cut off by the sight of Rudy jumping up, and strutting over to where Val lay stretched out.

“Forget about that money,” Rudy snapped. “Even if you could get your hands on it—which I’m not so sure you could—how far do you think it would go? If you’d had any sense, you’d have sewed things up for yourself before Eve kicked off.”

In his brother’s wraparound sunglasses, Val saw himself reflected, twin images no bigger than two flies.

“And just how was I supposed to do that?”

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“There’s ways. There’s always ways. A pitcher of martinis, and it’s, ‘Honey, how about signing this little bitty paper?’ Boom! You’ve got power of attorney.”

“Eve was a drunk. But no one ever said she was stupid.”

“So? You never heard of salting away?” He looked pointedly at the diamond signet ring flashing on Val’s pinkie. “Yeah, I see you have. Jesus Christ, is that all you’ve got to show for twelve whole years-a fucking ring, and a bunch of suits a pimp would cream over? You’re pathetic, you know that?” His voice had dropped to a growl that sounded oddly tender, and he gently kneaded Val’s shoulder. “I don’t know why I bother with you sometimes.”

Val jerked his shoulder free. “Yeah, neither do I. So why don’t you just take a hike?” It hurt, what Rudy was saying, but in a funny way he had a sense it was doing him some good-like iodine on a wound.

“Relax,” Rudy told him. “In another week or two, the girls’ll run out of money, get tired of Big Macs, and you’ll find them right on your doorstep scratching to be let in. How far do you think a couple of spoiled Bel Air brats are gonna get?”

“I don’t know.” Val fingered the scar over his eyebrow. It still felt tender, and under the puckered scar was a hard ridge. “If they had somebody to go to, maybe they wouldn’t be in such a big hurry.”

“Like who?”

“Dolly, maybe.”

“What makes you think the girls would go to her, knowing the way Eve felt about her?”

“Just a Hunch.” Val shrugged. “The way she was acting over the phone-nice as pie, like my shit don’t stink. I can’t put my finger on it, but I got a funny feeling she might know something she’s not telling.” With his fist, he smacked his open palm. “Jesus, if only I had the money, then I’d fly out there and see for myself.” He thought about asking Rudy to spot him a few hundred, but then he remembered he was already in the hole with him for

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almost a grand. And Rudy had made it clear: no more, not another penny.

Rudy’s grin seemed to slip a notch, as if he knew what Val was thinking, and a hard gleam stole into his beady black eyes. But then he was kneading Val’s shoulder again.

“What you need is a drink,” he said. “How about I fix us a couple of Bloody Marys?”

Later, sipping their drinks under the magnolia at the outdoor bar, Rudy said, “Sorry about giving you a hard time. Guess I’ve been pretty keyed up lately.”

Rudy? With his fancy law practice and all his money, what the hell did he have to worry about?

“It’s this case I’m on,” Rudy went on. “Haven’t come up for air in months.” He looked off into the distance, rubbing his chin. “Diaper pins. Who ever thinks about the guy who invented diaper pins? He turns baby shit into a hundred-million-dollar empire. Three ex-wives, no less, and eight kids, then he goes and dumps my client, wife number four, for a twenty-year-old bimbo. Now she’s really out to stick him good, you’ll pardon the pun. You should see the filings and motions. Eight months, and they can’t even agree on a court date.” He ran his finger around the inside of his collar. “Jesus, even on a cloudy day this sun can really get to you.” He eyed Val’s nearly empty glass. “How about another one?”

“No thanks. After this, I want to get in a few more laps.”

After staring at an algae-covered birdbath for several minutes, Rudy said, “She’s just your type.”

“Who?”

“My client. Soon-to-be-ex number four. Nice-looking lady. Knockers the size of watermelons. I’m telling you, she’s hot.” He took a long swallow of his drink, and fixed his gaze on Val. “And she’s loaded. At least she will be when we settle.”

“What the fuck you think I am, the kind of guy who’d sleep with somebody just for money?”

Rudy just kept on giving him that unnerving stare.

Finally, he shrugged and said, “If the shoe fits.”

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Val, reminded of the looks people had been giving him down at the club, the whispered conversations that often stopped the minute he walked into the steam room—I know what they’re saying, that I used Eve, bled her dry—felt something inside him snap. He grabbed his brother’s shirt and hoisted him off the bar stool. It felt like lifting a kid having a tantrum. Rudy thrashed and wriggled, lashing out with his fists and his feet. His face flushed a furious, boiled-looking red.

“Take it back!” Val demanded.

“Put me down! I wasn’t trying to insult you, for Christ’s sake!”

Val let go of Rudy, plopping him so suddenly down onto his stool that he nearly toppled over. Rudy’s elbow caught the remains of his Bloody Mary and sent the glass spinning over the edge of the bar, spewing tomato juice down the front of his shirt before smashing on the rootheaved patio bricks. Val felt the tiny shards fly against his ankles like sparks, and was absurdly reminded of a TV commercial: How about a nice Hawaiian punch?

The anger ebbed, and he began feeling bad that he’d roughed Rudy up. In his own weird way, Rudy might actually have been trying to help.

Christ, if it hadn’t been for Rudy, he could still be cruising some crummy Times Square sidewalk doing backflips and walking on his hands for nickels and dimes. A stuntman in Hollywood, all Rudy’s idea. And it was Rudy again, after they’d hitched clear across the country, who somehow fast-talked his way past the guard at the Universal lot, and two hours later, into a job for Val. Boy, could he talk. Except when it came to women.

Their mother, God rest her maggoty soul, had never done half as much for Val. Christ, he could just picture Shirley up there somewhere, looking down at him; he could hear her raspy whiskey voice, telling anyone who would listen, You see? I always said he’d amount to no good… .

Rudy had brains, a head like a goddamn encyclopedia. He knew about flowers and trees, and how atom bombs were made, and all the fifteen-syllable words that

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lawyers slung around. Partner in a classy firm, a house in Brentwood, a Mercedes, a weekend place in Malibu. Rudy’s only problem, as Val saw it, was women.

Val guessed that the only times Rudy had gotten laid were when he’d paid for it. Probably thought he was too short and too ugly for any woman to go for him. But what he really lacked was confidence.

Rudy mopped at his shirt with a napkin. “Jesus, you don’t have to go apeshit!” He tossed down the napkin, now drenched with what looked like blood. “Look at this. Brand-new shirt. I’ll never get this out.”

“Soak it in milk.”

“Now how would you know a thing like that?” Rudy stared at him in amazement.

“Looks like the fake blood they dumped all over me when I was doing stunts-a real bitch to get out once it sets. I learned that milk trick from Heloise. You know, in the newspaper.”

Rudy sputtered as if he were choking. He sounded like an outboard motor having trouble getting started. It was a moment before Val realized he was laughing.

Rudy slapped his shoulder.

“You know, little brother, sometimes you amaze me. You really do. I think you and Roberta will get along just fine.”

“Roberta?”

“Look, think of it as charity. You’d be doing her a favor. That husband of hers, she probably hasn’t been properly fucked since the flood. And if in return she decides to show you her gratitude, well, what are friends for? You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. It’s the American way.”

“Charity, huh?” Val, looking at Rudy’s lumpy face, sort of a cross between Baby Hu่y and Mr. Magoo, felt himself getting a little excited. Maybe for a change something good would start happening. “So what do you get out of it? Why all of a sudden are you so fucking concerned with my getting laid?”

Rudy tried to look innocent, but his brother knew him better than almost anyone.

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“Okay, the truth is, Roberta’s thinking of backing

out.’

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s got her so brainwashed into thinking he’s king of the universe, she’s this close to signing whatever bullshit agreement he wants her to sign, and maybe kissing off millions.”

“And there goes your fat fee, right?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, well, I got a big overhead.”

There was more to it, Val sensed, seeing a queer, hard glint in his brother’s eye that said this went beyond him just pulling down his fee. Maybe he had the hots for Roberta himself, and figured if he couldn’t fuck her, the next best thing was having his brother do it. And this way, with Val the muscle man stroking her real good, she wouldn’t be so quick to sign away a fortune.

Val, flexing his hand, admiring the wink of the diamond on his little finger, thought that for such a little runt his brother sure did have a big pair of balls.

“I’ll think about it,” he said. “That’s all I’m promising.” But he was beginning to feel tempted. He could use the money, no doubt about that. And what else did he have going for himself right now?

“You could meet her for a drink while you’re thinking it over,” Rudy urged. “No strings.”

“Shit, Rudy.” Val felt himself getting pissed again. “I hope you’re not forgetting I got a few other things on my mind.”

“Yeah … well.” His eyes narrowed, nearly disappearing into the folds of puffy flesh surrounding them. “You really think Dolly might know something?”

“Like I said, it’s just a hunch.”

“Hey, tell you what,” Rudy said in a soft, almost sinuous voice— “Day after tomorrow, I’m flying out to New York to see this client of mine, and collect some depositions. Custody case-my guy’s ex-wife is trying to keep him from seeing his kid, on account of he’s a faggot. I gotta prove to the court somehow that even wearing ladies’ undies, he’s still Father Knows Best. It shouldn’t take long,

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though. Afterwards, I could drop in on Dolly, check out her story.”

Val sat up straighter. “Would you? Hey, that’d be great.” How could he have doubted Rudy? When push came to shove, didn’t Rudy always come through? Gruffly, he added, “Thanks.”

Rudy shrugged. “Hey, no sweat. What are brothers for?”

Two days later, an hour after checking in at the Pierre, Rudy was in a cab bouncing over the potholes up Madison on his way to Dolly’s shop. Could Val be right? Did Dolly maybe know where Annie and Laurel were? He felt excited, hopeful, almost squirming in his seat … but his stomach was in knots.

What if Dolly wasn’t hiding anything?

What if he came away with nothing more than what she’d already told Val?

Val. In spite of his jumpiness, Rudy found himself smiling at the memory of how he’d conned his brother. Making him think that old Rudy was doing him such a big favor, first setting him up with Roberta-who’d keep Val so busy, in bed and out, he wouldn’t know which end was up-then oh-so-casually offering to follow up on Dolly. It never even occurred to his totally self-involved brother that Rudy was doing this, not for him, but for Laurel.

Rudy, in his mind, saw his niece standing in the doorway at Bel Jardin, hovering just beyond his reachher sweet face and those big, blue eyes. She was spooked by him, he knew. But who could blame her? What kid wouldn’t be?

If only he could somehow let her know he wouldn’t hurt her for the world. He felt so clumsy, so stupid around her. Like that time he’d given her a doll-the most expensive one in Bullock’s, made of porcelain, with a frilly silk dress-not realizing it was far too fragile for a child. He remembered Laurel, only six, accidentally dropping it on the sun porch’s tiled floor, watching in horror as it