Zanya loomed over Jevy's back, the teen focused on Strasser's fly. Strasser looked up when Zanya raised her arms, poised to pounce on Jevy. Something about the gesture, the menace of it, flipped a switch in Strasser's head – This isn't going to be any light tasting; she's going to tear her apart.

He grabbed Jevy under the arms and yanked her to her feet. Before she could react, he shoved her toward the mouth of the alley, away from Zanya.

The girl had no idea what was happening, stumbled as Strasser forced her out onto the street. He slapped the rest of the bills into her hand, pushed her to get going. She looked at the money, looked up, what the f...?

Then she looked over Strasser's shoulder.

Enraged Zanya, caught in a sliver of streetlight, was flat-out horrific: Daemonic yellow eyes glared murderously, hair gone wild, lips curled back from terrible fangs.

Jevy couldn't move, too petrified to scream.

Strasser grabbed her and spun her away. "Go!"

The terrified teen tripped and fell, fucking stiletto boots. Scrambled to her feet, ran wild down the deserted street.

Zanya went to leap after her. Strasser blocked the way.

Zanya lunged at him. Strasser backpeddled, dodging the fangs gnashing at his face.

He grabbed a wooden strut from a pile of trash and broke it over his knee. Held up the pieces in the shape of a cross, warding off Zanya's bloodlust.

"The hell are you doing?" she seethed.

"I read somewhere this works," he said.

"Let me at her. We had a deal."

"Not any more. You'll kill her."

"I'll kill you!"

Strasser kept the makeshift crucifix between him and the snaps and snarls, trying not to trip while he backed away from the alley.

Zanya's yellow eyes flared fury as she jabbed a claw-like finger. "I'll have my get-back," she hissed, words hitting Strasser's face like scalding steam. "You feel that? It's what hell's gonna feel like."

He kept his head turned as he backed down the empty street, eyes and nose stinging from the brimstone fumes drifting with him. He turned in the direction Jevy went, darted a look back over his shoulder, saw Zanya hanging back by the alley, glowering and radiating menace.

She yelled at him again, "I'll have my get-back!"

Strasser turned onto another street, out of her sight now. When he felt himself released from her force, felt it like an actual physical letting go, he tossed away the pieces of strut and asked himself, What the hell did I get into?

The concept he'd had about using her was one thing; putting it into play was something he wasn't even close to being ready for. Winging it had almost cost him his life. Don't screw with weapons you haven't tested.

And what about Jevy? How close had she come to getting herself sucked dead? There was no way this could be explained to her, not now. Hopefully anyone she told about it would tell her it had to be some kind of demented joke.

It wasn't for another couple of blocks that he got back to taking normal breaths. Got himself to some streets where people were still out doing things – a young Asian couple coming this way, sharing an iPod, oblivious; a heavyset woman in curlers walking a poodle that needed a trim. Windows in the low-rise apartment buildings glowed with late-night TV.

On one of the stoops an old street scruff was passed out, a bottle crooked in his arm. Strasser gave him a glance going by, stopped, went back and lifted the bottle. He took a long pull, shivered his shoulders and took another one, put the bottle back and went on.

When he'd made his way to the block the hookers worked, he rounded the corner and was all of a sudden lit by flashing blue lights, a cop car pulled across the near lane.

Somebody had been run over by a taxi. A cop was trying to calm down the vehicle's driver, a man in a turban whose broken English came out in a torrent.

"She was looking to her back," he said. "Ran out from where I could not see her. I could not stop. I tried."

Another cop was bent over the unmoving victim, a young woman spread-eagle on the pavement under a flickering streetlight. One of her stiletto boots was twisted backward, mini-skirt hiked up and ripped, orangey hair flung back from her face.

Strasser stood on the curb, staring down at her eyes staring back.

Jevy had been terrified when she bolted from the alley. Her boots would have made for clumsy running when she stumbled along the same sidewalks he just did – past the Asian couple, the dog on the leash, the scruff with the bottle Strasser drank from.

She had probably kept checking behind her like he did, and when she came to this corner, still panicked, ran out into the street not looking.

He couldn't take his eyes off her startled face, couldn't help but wonder if she had anybody who'd miss her. Thinking that the small thing growing inside her would.

He nodded to himself. "You got your get-back, Zanya."

Heard a voice speak up behind him. "What'd you say?"

He turned around and met the eyes of Detective Sergeant Lagnese.

"Hello again, Sergeant."

Lagnese grunted a greeting. "I asked what you just said."

"Just mumbling, you know, the situation."

"Uh-huh. You seem to be everywhere tonight. You see it happen?"

"No, I was around the corner."

"Doing what? I smell whiskey."

"Working a source. He had a bottle."

Lagnese gave him a squinty look, nodded toward Jevy. "You know her?"

"Briefly."

"What does that mean?"

"I was trying to recruit her as a source."

"She have a bottle too?"

Strasser ignored the remark, looked back at Jevy. "She had no chance."

"Some do, some don't."

Strasser gave him a blank look.

"Don't lose any sleep." Lagnese turned from Strasser's stare and walked back to his unmarked car. Opened the door and got in behind the wheel.

Finnerty was in the shotgun seat. "What'd he say?"

Lagnese pulled the door shut and reached for his seat belt. "It was just a hooker he was working."

"What, he was doin' her?"

"That's a little tacky, even for you She was a kid."

"So?"

"I don't think he was into that."

Finnerty studied his partner. "You're the one said he gives off weird vibes."

"Whatever."

Lagnese buckled his seat belt, put the car in drive and pulled into a break in the traffic.

Strasser turned from watching the car drive off, looked back down at Jevy.

At her startled face.

At the bills he'd given her still in her hand.

He stared until a gust from passing traffic sent the bills skittering. Stood there and watched them blow across the pavement, didn't try to chase them.

But someone else did.

A man darted out from the shadows, started plucking the money off the street – a black man Strasser had seen not more than half an hour ago.

Jevy's pimp, Boxboy.