She looked up, startled.

Myron smiled warmly. “Hi.”

She screamed Piercingly. “Get the fuck out of here!” she shrieked, covering her chest. Modesty. So rare nowadays. It was nice to see.

Myron said, “My name—”

Another piercing scream. Myron heard a noise behind him and spun. A skinny kid wearing no shirt stood smiling. He popped open a switchblade, a maniacal grin plastered across his face. His Bruce Lee–like build shimmered in the light. He crouched low and beckoned Myron forward. Very West Side Story. If only the kid would snap his fingers.

Another door opened, and red light leaked out. A woman stepped into view. She had what looked like curly red hair, but Myron couldn’t be sure if that was her color or if it just appeared red because of the light from the darkroom.

“You’re trespassing,” she said to Myron. “Hector has the right to kill you where you stand.”

“I don’t know where you got your law degree,” Myron said, “but if Hector isn’t careful, I’m going to take away his toy and shove it where the sun don’t shine.”

Hector giggled. He began to toss the knife back and forth between his hands.

“Wow,” Myron said.

The topless model fled to the dressing room, which was cleverly marked UNDRESSING ROOM. The woman from the darkroom stepped fully into the studio and closed the darkroom door. Her hair was indeed red, more like burnt auburn actually. Her skin was what some might call peaches and cream. She was maybe thirty and looked, strange as it might sound, perky. The Katie Couric of the porno world.

“Are you the owner?” Myron asked.

“Hector is very good with a blade,” she replied coolly. “He could slice out a man’s heart and show it to him before he died.”

“That must liven a party.”

Hector stepped closer. Myron did not move.

“I could demonstrate my skills in the martial arts,” Myron began. He quickly withdrew his gun and aimed it at Hector’s chest. “But I just showered.”

Hector’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Let this be a lesson to you, Blade Boy,” Myron continued. “Half the people in this building probably carry guns. You go around waving that toy, and someone without my tender heart will ace you.”

The redhead did not seem taken aback by the gun. “Get out of here,” she said to Myron “Now.”

“Are you the owner?” Myron tried again.

“You got a warrant?”

“I’m not a cop.”

“Then get your ass out of here.” She undulated a lot when she talked. Her hips and legs in constant motion. She signaled to Hector, who closed up the switchblade. “You can go, Hector.”

“Not so fast, Hector,” Myron said. “Get in the darkroom. I don’t want you getting any ideas about coming back with a gun.”

Hector looked toward the redhead. She nodded, and he went.

“Close the door,” Myron said.

He closed it. Myron walked over and pulled the dead bolt.

The redhead put her hands on her hips. “Happy now?”

“Nearly ecstatic.”

“Now get out.”

“Listen,” Myron said with his melt-’em, warm smile, “I don’t want any trouble. I’m just here to buy some photographs. My name is Bernie Worley. I work for a new porno magazine.”

She made a face. “Do I really look that stupid? Bernie Worley, here to buy some photographs. Give me a fuckin’ break.”

There was a sudden noise. People. Lots of them. A commotion, even by this place’s standard. In the corridor. Right where he had left Esperanza. Alone.

Myron turned and ran, feeling his heart leap to his throat. If something had happened to her—

He threw open the door. Dozens of people surrounded Esperanza, most kneeling. She stood in the middle, smiling and—he couldn’t believe it—signing autographs.

“It’s Pocahontas!” someone shouted.

“Make mine out ‘With love to Manuel.’ ”

“You’re still my favorite!”

“I remember when you beat Queen Carimba. What a fight!”

“That Highway Hannah. Such a dirty fighter. When she threw salt in your eyes, I could have killed her.”

Esperanza caught Myron’s eye, shrugged, went back to signing old matchbooks and scraps of paper. The redhead followed him out the door. When she saw Esperanza, her entire being lit up. “Poca?”

Esperanza looked back up. “Lucy?”

They hugged. They stepped back into the studio, Myron following.

“Where you been, girl?” Lucy asked.

“Here, there.”

The two women kissed. On the lips. A little too long. Esperanza turned around. “Myron?”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes are bulging.”

“They are?”

“I don’t tell you everything.”

“Apparently not,” he said. “But at least I know why my startling good looks didn’t faze your friend.”

Both women found that laughable. “Lucy, this is Myron Bolitar.”

Lucy looked him up and down. “He your boyfriend?”

“No. Just a good friend. And my boss.”

“He looks like a guy I know, worked a kinky show at a club down the street. He had this act where he peed on different women.”

“It wasn’t me,” Myron assured her. “I have enough trouble peeing in a public urinal.”

Lucy turned her attention to Esperanza. “You look good, Poca.”

“Thanks.”

“Out of the wrestling game, huh?”

“Completely.”

“But you’re still working out?”

“As often as I can.”

“Nautilus?”

“Um-hmm.”

“It shows,” Lucy said with a wicked smile. “You really look hot.”

Myron cleared his throat. “Hey, how about those Knicks?”

The women ignored him. “You still taking pictures of the wrestlers?” Esperanza asked.

“Not much anymore. I’m mostly into this shit.”

Esperanza looked back at Myron. “Lucy—that isn’t her real name, we just call her that because of her hair—she used to do the promo photos of all the wrestlers.”

“So I gathered,” Myron said. “Do you think she can help us out?”

“What do you want to know?” Lucy asked.

Myron handed her the copy of Nips. He pointed to Kathy’s picture. “I want to know about this,” he said.