stared at Henry, listening for a moment while adjusting the garment over an exposed shoulder. “She likes yours, too.”
Rigger studied the girl’s face. Rachel—Appearance – 10, Likability – 10, Attitude – 8, Usefulness – 2.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” the woman said, without warning.
Rigger and Rachel looked at her. So did Henry.
“We’ll clean your stupid apartment, but it’ll cost you fifty bucks.”
The girl and Henry looked at Rigger, expectant expressions on their faces.
He savored the moment, feeling some sort of perverse victory over the woman. Had he penetrated her icy facade and touched a warm current of femininity?
Street Woman; Appearance – 8, Likability – 1, Attitude – 0, Usefulness – 6.
“Sorry,” Rigger said, thinking he might persuade her to lighten her attitude. “My maid came back from vacation.”
“Let’s go, Rach.” She grabbed the girl’s arm, pushing her to the edge of booth.
“Wait.” He was no match for her. “Kidding. I was only kidding.” He reached for her wrist to keep them from leaving.
She glared at his hand, then wrenched away hers and settled back to her place. “Don’t fool with me, Rigger. I don’t play jokes.”
“All right, I’m sorry…” He stopped, confused for a moment. “I just wanted to see you smile.”
“I don’t do that either.”
He looked down to see Henry slowly turn her smiling face toward him.
“Okay,” he said. “No jokes, no smiles. I got it.”
The woman held her hand out to him, palm up.
“What?” he asked.
“Payment in advance.”
“Yeah, right…” He saw one eyebrow go up. “Okay, okay. Payment in advance. No jokes, no smiles.”
When his checkbook came out, she shook her head.
“American Express?” Rigger had reached a point where she was either going to take a joke or they were going to end this mercenary affair.
“Actually, I can do American Express.”
“Didn’t she say no jokes?” he asked Rachel, then looked the question at Henry. They both nodded.
“You have to add ten percent,” the woman said. “We do it at Punky’s Pawn Shop, over on Forty-third.”
“Seriously?”
“You don’t think a street woman can do business?”
“Oh, I think you’re a businesswoman all right. A very good businesswoman.”
He took some currency out of his wallet, riffling the new twenties to separate them. When he passed two twenties and a ten to her, he looked up to see the waitress glancing from the money to him to the woman.
She shrugged and asked, “Meatloaf?”
He made room for her to set the plate before him. She placed the chicken-fried steak in front of the woman, dropping it from a height that made an annoying clatter, but not quite enough to break the plate. Rachel got a hamburger with a side order of M&Ms, gently.
Henry sat down on the table, with her legs splayed out. She watched Rachel pick out three green candies. One went into Henry’s lap.
Rigger picked up his fork and stared at it as if he’d forgotten what he was going to do with it.
When did I tell her my name?
Chapter Three
Rigger’s apartment on Central Park East, facing Sheep Meadow.
Rigger roused himself from semi-paralysis and reached for his remote control to pause the Mozart. He hit the wrong button, bringing the TV to life.
A newscast blinked on. “…missing from her morning dance class.” A video of a hysterical mother pacing in front of an old redbrick building popped onto the screen. “No one, no one, especially Rudolf, my dumb-ass ex-husband, is supposed to pick up my daughter. I’ve told them and told them, he’s an imbecile, he’ll grab her and take off to Albuquerque or someplace. I bet he did it. I know the sonofa—”
The video of the woman abruptly changed to the contrite, chiseled face of a young news anchor with much-too-blue contact lenses. He squinted to read the teleprompter.
“However, the Tiny Tyke Academy’s spokesperson told our reporter that Samantha Ann Cramer wasn’t picked up at the school. They had no record of her arriving for her regular Wednesday morning bullet…” the man stopped and blinked at the camera. “Ah…uh…” he stammered, clearing his throat. “I mean ballet, her Wednesday morning ballet class. The mother insisted she had dropped off the four-year-old girl at nine a.m., as always, and watched her until she was inside the building. Meanwhile, police and child welfare authorities began—”
Rigger clicked off the TV when his doorbell chimed. He opened the door to see the familiar pea-jacket, Henry the Barbie doll, and sweet Irish eyes of Rachel.
“Come in, come in.” He stepped aside and waved them into his apartment, imitating the enthusiasm he wanted to feel.
When he closed the door, a fluffy ball of fur came bounding around a corner on the opposite side of the large living room. The puppy tripped on the red ribbon trailing from his neck, tumbled down the four carpeted steps, landed on his head, rolled end-over-end, and jumped to his feet. With tiny pink tongue flapping out the side of his mouth, he ran straight for the girl.
“L’phant!” she cried and ran behind the woman. He chased after her. Rachel dodged away. “L’phant, l’phant!” she squealed. “Save me.”
On the third time around, the woman grabbed the girl and held her up high. The puppy sat, panting, looking up at the child, still wanting to play.
“What the heck do you think you’re doing?” She didn’t give Rigger a chance to answer. “If I wanted her to have a dog, I’d buy her a dog. And it wouldn’t be a scruffy mutt like this one.” She shoved away the puppy with her foot.
Instead of being rebuffed, the dog took it as an invitation. He yipped happily, pouncing on the woman’s foot.
Rachel squirmed around to watch him.
“Who said it was for her?” Rigger asked.
“Oh, so it’s your dog?”
“Yes. I’ve been thinking for a long time I needed a watchdog.”
She blew out a breath through pursed lips and shoved away the puppy again. “You call that a watchdog?”
Rigger nodded.
“What’s his name, then?”
“I
