Zanya, still naked, led Strasser from the window across the warehouse loft. He kept his distance from the snake, watched it slither to a mattress on the floor, over in the corner, and coil itself on it.

"You two share that?" Strasser asked.

"He's family." She picked her jeans up off the mattress and stuck her foot into one of the legs.

Strasser checked out the sparse surroundings, the beams, the plank floor, the flickering candles. "You got a kitchen? I don't see a stove."

"I'm into raw," she said. "And there's a hot plate."

"Right."

"Look, just spit it out, okay? What do you want from me?"

"I have to make a change in how I do things. Undercover. And you might be just how I do it."

"What're you talking about? What things?"

"Like taking down bad guys who keep weaseling through the system." He watched her stick her other foot into the other leg and shimmy the jeans up onto her hips. "It came to me when I saw you drinking that blood. And when I saw how you flew up the side of this building."

"I didn't fly."

"Whatever. It could come in handy."

"You're still not making sense."

"Okay, bottom line, I'm not so different from you. I've always had a thing for, what, occult. Weird family, maybe it's genes. Maybe you tasted it."

"Fuckin' groupie is what you're saying."

"Let's just say I'm partial."

She gave him a look as she zipped her fly. "You ever done any tasting?"

"Not personally. Because if I did and I actually crossed over, I'd have other priorities than being a cop. And then we're competitors, not partners."

"You've got a good line, I'll give you that. And who said anything about partners?"

"Who said anything about me not running you in for stealing my blood?"

The snake on the mattress raised its head at his tone.

Zanya spoke to it. "Easy, Cuz."

Strasser gave it an uneasy glance, looked at Zanya. "So let's hear it."

"Hear what?"

"Your Plan B."

"What makes you sure I've got one?"

"Because you'd better."

"And then what?"

"We'll see. I like to operate from different angles." He smiled. "And like I said, I'm partial."

Zanya studied him, like she was trying to decide how much she could tell him. She went over and picked up her iPhone from a work bench, pressed an icon and tossed it to him.

"Take a look," she said.

He caught the phone and looked at the screen. Saw a picture of a girl maybe high-school age, mini-skirt, stiletto boots, the uniform of a young hooker.

He asked, "Who's this?"

"Just someone I saw on the street."

"And she's your Plan B?"

Zanya pulled her sweater on, head popping out of the neck to look at him. "She's not my plan anything. You're the one keeps talking plans."

"Don't get defensive. I'm just wondering what's the connection."

"I have to eat."

"And you pick on hookers?"

"I haven't picked on anyone yet."

"But you're thinking."

"They'd be missed the least." She nodded at the phone in his hand. "Kid's probably a runaway."

"You're probably right." He thought for a moment, then nodded. "Maybe there's a way we can work her into it, use her for a sting."

"How?"

"Let me ask you," he said, and held up the phone picture. "Just hypothetically, could someone with your tastes feed without making it, you know..."

"What, fatal?"

"I mean, satisfy yourself and satisfy me that you're the real deal."

"I'm real. But you don't want the guilt, is that it?"

"Not with a kid."

Zanya looked at the picture, studied it a moment, then shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

"Good, then let's talk about that plan. And by the way..."

"What?"

"How are you fixed for cash?"

# # #

Lagnese parked diagonally between two patrol cars in front of a station across town from his own. He killed the headlights and got out with Finnerty, the two giving the gray brick building a once-over as they crossed the sidewalk and went up the concrete steps.

"You ever done work here?" Finnerty asked.

"Couple cases, but not for a while." Lagnese returned the nods of two patrolmen coming down the steps.

He led Finnerty through the entrance that was flanked by two green lights, fixtures that were a tradition at every station in the city. He remembered one of the old timers telling him that it was a holdover from when watchmen patrolling the streets at night carried lanterns with green glass panels in them. When they returned to the watch house after their rounds, they hung their lanterns outside the entrance so that people would know where to find them in case of emergency.

Inside the station, the two detectives went to the front desk, Lagnese holding his badge up for the desk sergeant.

"Hi, I'm Lagnese from the one-four."

The desk sergeant, a man in his late forties whose name tag said Kraychek, glanced at the badge. "Good evening, Sergeant. What can we do for you?"

"I'd like to speak to your watch commander if he has a minute."

"Can I ask what it's about?"

"One of his former colleagues."

"Which one?"

Lagnese gave him a stone stare. "I'd rather speak to the commander."

"The commander is out on a call. Maybe I can help."

Lagnese could see that the stare wasn't going to do it. "It's about Detective Frank Strasser," he finally said.

"Oh, sure," Kraychek said with a don't-screw-with-me smile. "What about him?"

Lagnese was still reluctant.

Kraychek prompted. "There a problem?"

Lagnese shook his head. "No, I'm just curious as to why he was transferred."

Kraychek gave an understanding nod. "Well, basically, from what I heard, he had issues with Internal Affairs."

Finnerty gave his partner a sideways glance, could see that Lagnese was making an effort to keep his patience.

"I know that," Lagnese said. "What kind?"

Kraychek stayed in his pulling-teeth mode. "I think it came down to them feeling it was best for all concerned if he moved to another precinct."

"Yeah, but why? I mean, what was behind it?"

"Excuse me," Kraychek said, looking over Lagnese's shoulder.

A patrolman wearing a K-9 windbreaker was walking by with a German shepherd on a leash.

Kraychek called to him. "Let me know what the deal is, Mike."

"Will do," the patrolman called back, heading for the door.

Kraychek looked back at the two detectives. "Somebody left an untended satchel in Starbucks."

"They think it's live?" said Finnerty.

Kraychek shrugged. "You never know. And hopefully he'll bring back some decent coffee." He looked at Lagnese. "So where were we?"

"I.A. and Strasser."

"Right. They never told us why they moved him. I'm not sure they ever had an actual issue. "

"But they wanted him transferred," Lagnese said. "And from homicide to street crimes. Like some kind of demotion."

"That's not what I said."

"But that's what it came down to."

"Look, the man liked to close cases. We all do. How he did it maybe wasn't always law-school perfect."

"So you're saying he worked on the edge."

Kraychek looked from Lagnese to Finnerty and back. Leaned back in his chair. "Let me tell you something that'll maybe give you some idea who we're talking about here."

Lagnese nodded. "We're listening."

"For starters, I wasn't always on this desk. I'm here thanks to your friend."

"That sounds like a beef," Finnerty said. "What'd he do?"

"He saved my ass is what he did."

Finnerty and Lagnese glanced at each other.

Kraychek continued. "He stepped between me and a pusher I caught breaking into a drugstore. Guy's beating the crap outta me with a crowbar. Basically, I'd screwed up. Strasser took some bad hits himself before he shot the guy and killed him."

"Overreacted."

"Not if you're the one getting crowbarred." Kraychek lifted his arm to show it was in a cast. "I'll be wearing this another couple months." Turned his head to show a nasty scalp wound. "Never mind the whack I took here."

Finnerty spoke up. "How come you didn't go disability?"

"I did, but my old lady was driving me nuts. Strasser helped me come back on the job."

Lagnese said, "I can see why you feel like you owe him."

"What I feel like is that he got a crummy deal."

But Lagnese wasn't buying it. "Yeah, well, maybe he's lucky I.A. didn't kick his ass out on the street. Or worse. I mean, somebody knew something besides he shot the guy."

"Why do you have such a hard-on for him?"

"I'm just checking to see if we need to keep a heads-up for trouble."

"I hate to tell you, Sergeant, but good cops always have a streak of it."

Lagnese shook his head as he and Finnerty turned to leave. "Not on my watch."