Laura Lippman - By A Spider's Thread

"Yeah, but he was her father . What kind of man would do that to his daughter?"

Kirsch shrugged. "A man who knew his daughter was a whore and figured he deserved a piece of whatever she earned. Once a pimp, always a pimp."

"I was told that Petrovich was a thief, who killed a man in a dispute."

"He did a thriving business in stolen goods, sure. But from what I understand-and I'm good at getting information, I'd be a decent private investigator myself-he killed a pimp who tried to take Natalie and her friend away from him. He didn't care if his daughter turned the occasional trick, but he sure as hell expected her to bring her earnings home every night."

"No way," Tess repeated. It was not that she found the information so unfathomable, more that her mind balked at taking this news back to Mark Rubin. Natalie, a teenage whore. And Lana must be the friend in question. The pool of possible traveling companions had just swelled tenfold, a hundredfold, to all Natalie's former tricks, or even her would-be pimp. No, he was dead, if Kirsch was to be trusted, killed by a father who resented the loss of income, as opposed to the loss of his daughter's innocence.

"Well, I have to admit, she opted out of the prison thing early on, stopped coming around at all. But her friend even married a guy. Boris must have gotten a bundle for that."

"One of the guys in the group?"

"Yep. Famous Amos, the world's biggest Jew. I told my mom about Amos, and she said he couldn't possibly be Jewish. But I think that's because he knew how to fix cars, not because of his size."

I was married once , Lana had told Tess, for about six months . No wonder she had found matrimony so dreary. Her groom had been locked up.

"Natalie was last seen in French Lick, Indiana, with a man of medium height and average looks. Dark hair, slender frame."

"Dark hair. Well, that lets me out, unless I was dipping into the Grecian Formula. French Lick, huh? I guess they must be hard-core Larry Bird fans."

Hirsch's unending supply of glib chatter was beginning to wear on Tess. If he was really worried about getting second dates, he should drop the Catskills-style delivery and try a moment or two of simple sincerity.

"Why did you sign up for the men's group anyway?" She couldn't help feeling aggrieved on her uncle's behalf, and Rubin's. They had been trying to do something worthwhile, and the only man who had valued their efforts was Mickey Harvey. Boris Petrovich was pimping, first to his fellow prisoners, then to Mark. The other guys were just passing time. "Everything seems like a big joke to you."

"I admit-at first it was just for the distraction. An Islamic fundamentalist might have signed up for that group, just to vary the routine a little. But I gotta tell you, it helped. Those guys reminded me that I came from a community, and although I had sinned against that community, I could work my way back if I tried."

"The prodigal son."

"No, that's New Testament, your people's gig. The Old Testament isn't quite as big on absolute forgiveness, but I had broken only one commandment. Well, two, because a drug is like a false god. Plus, I did a little coveting on the side."

"What about taking the Lord's name in vain? Keeping the Sabbath?"

"Four, five-the point is, it was good being reminded that I was a Jew. I didn't have a wife, I didn't have kids, and I sure as hell didn't have a career left as an accountant. But I was part of something that was bigger than me, and there was a comfort in that."

"Sounds like you did some twelve-stepping along the way."

"Still do. I catch a meeting once or twice a week. I've got an addictive personality. Then I realized almost everyone has an addictive personality. The trick is to peddle legal ones that don't particularly appeal to you. It came down to this or coffee." He held a cigar up to his nose, inhaling its aroma. "Of course, I'm late to a trend again, just like I was with cocaine. Cigar sales aren't what they used to be, and the Internet is kicking my ass. But I'm doing okay."

"Congratulations. And thank you for your time today."

"So…" He was back to full-bore-charm mode. "You ever date an ex-con? I may have embraced my heritage, but I've never quite lost the shiksa thing."

Tess didn't have the heart to tell him that she was not the goy of his dreams. "I sorta have a boyfriend."

"Sorta?"

"I mean, I have a boyfriend. He's just away right now, tending to some personal business."

"I don't know. Sounds like a Freudian slip to me, as if you'd be willing to not have a boyfriend under the right conditions."

"Yeah, well, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

"Not in this shop, sweetheart. Not in this shop."

For once Natalie held her ground and insisted on a motel at the top of their price range, which meant extras such as an indoor pool, a free breakfast buffet, and a coffeemaker in the room. After dinner in the restaurant-another meal that Isaac barely touched-she took the children down to the steamy, overheated pool room, letting them swim in T-shirts and underwear until their fingers were shriveled and their lips almost blue. It turned out that the pool's heater was faulty, so while the air was humid and sultry, the water temperature was colder than the Atlantic Ocean in June. But children never mind cold water, and she had to beg them to get out.

Back in the room, she hustled them into hot showers, surprising them afterward with cups of cocoa and hard little chocolate-chip cookies. The twins drank without comment, but Isaac wrinkled his nose.

"It tastes funny," he complained.

"You're just not used to instant," Natalie told him. "Put some more mini marshmallows in it, and it will taste richer."

Their cocoa gone, she tucked them into the bed farthest from the door. Penina was wearing pull-ups now, an utter defeat, but it was only fair to Efraim and Isaac. Natalie had bought another box of the pull-ups today, spending precious dollars at a discount department store not far from the motel. Married to Mark, she had barely noticed the price of anything. Now money seemed to be the only thing she thought about. Well, one of two things she thought about.

Worn out by the swim, lulled by the chocolate, the children fell asleep within minutes. Zeke, lying on the other bed, watching the television with the sound muted, saw that they were out and nodded at her, removing the phone's handset and dropping it in his pocket.

In the car they started out as they always did, giggling a bit, stroking each other's faces, feeling the glad relief of a moment when nothing was expected of them-no childish complaints or tears, no demands, no work to do, no people to deceive. But Zeke quickly moved ahead, urgent, keen to do what they had to do and get back in the room. He unzipped his pants, pushing Natalie's head down with the usual gentle pressure. But this time she slipped her neck from his hand and slid across the unbroken bench of the front seat, straddling him and positioning his hands so he could feel she was naked beneath her skirt.

"C'mon, baby," he said, trying to force her up and off him, but the steering wheel kept her in place. "We agreed. That has to wait until everything is perfect. A beautiful hotel suite, you in a silk gown. Candles, music. It won't be long now. Be patient."

"I don't want to wait anymore. If you insist on perfect, you're never going to have anything. Nothing is ever perfect. Besides, what's the difference between being in my mouth and being in my-" She paused, not wanting to ruin the mood by saying something too crude. "Between my mouth and between me !"

He was ready, more than ready. She felt the telltale twitch where she held him, as if Zeke's body were arguing with his head. Natalie began kissing him lightly-mouth, eyelids, ears. When he spoke again, his voice was faint, unconvinced.