and pulled a cigarette from the pack on the table, screwing it in his mouth. "And I don't want my family to get involved."
"Family? You mean your girlfriend?" Finch said slyly.
"What about her?"
"She's already involved, Terry. She's right outside the door."
"Bullshit, she is. Kitty wouldn't come here. She's not that stupid."
One of the cops, Lennart, started to laugh. "She's the one who turned you in, Terry. She told us where to find you -and Lessing."
The kid gave Lennart an icy look. "You're lying. Kitty wouldn't turn on me."
"But she did, Terry," Finch said.
"Fuck you," the kid said. "I don't believe it."
Finch opened the door and waved to someone out in the hall. A moment later a skinny redheaded teenage girl with a pale, freckled face came to the door. She stared at Carnova for a second, and her lower lip began to tremble violently. The kid eyed her with astonishment.
"You done it to me, didn't you?" he said, as if he couldn't believe it. "You give me up."
"I done it for your own good," the girl said tragically, and started to cry.
"Oh, shit." The kid collapsed in his chair, the unlit cigarette dropping from his mouth to the floor.
"Wha'd you tell them, Kitty? Wha'd've you done to us?"
The girl let out a squeal of anguish, and Finch signaled someone to take her away. He closed the door again.
Carnova sat bent over for a long time, the very image of pained betrayal. But I had the feeling that, like all of his behavior, this was borrowed too -from some movie or TV show. The tough kid betrayed. After a time he looked up balefully.
"You can't believe everything that girl says. She ain't right in the head."
"She's right enough to hang you, Terry," Finch said coldly.
He ducked his chin again. "She told you all of it, did she?"
"She told us you killed Lessing, and she told us where you hid the body."
"No more'n that?" he said curiously.
"It's more than enough, Terry," Lennart said.
Finch said, "Your reputation's shot, son. And your girlfriend doesn't want you anymore. You ready to make a statement now?"
The kid sat in silence for a moment, his brow working furiously, as if he was sizing up his situation. "Why not? You might as well get the story straight, long as Kitty done opened her mouth."
11
Once the stenographer came into the room, Carnova brightened up, as if he felt the spotlight on him once again.
Lennart and Finch sat down at the table. Gerard and I leaned against the walls.
"All right, Terry," Finch said. "Tell us about Lessing."
Carnova curled his lip in disgust. "He deserved killing -that faggot."
"I thought that's how you made your living," Lennart said. "Selling yourself to fags?"
Carnova looked deeply insulted. "It's just a gig, man. It's just a way of turning a dollar." He smiled a tough smile that made him look his age. "I ain't no fag myself. I hate 'em, man. I hate queers. I use 'em, that's all."
Gerard said, "You don't go down on them, Terry? You don't suck cock?"
"Hell, no! I let them go down on me. I make 'em pay to do it. Fucking fags."
"How about Lessing? Did he go down on you?"
"Sometimes," he said. "Yeah, sometimes I'd let him do me, if he paid good enough. But that really wasn't his bag, man. He liked . . . other things."
"How long have you known him, Terry?" Finch said.
"Since I was sixteen. We got together pretty regular since I was sixteen."
"How regular?"
"He'd cruise Monmouth in Covington 'bout once every two or three weeks, at the start. Last couple of years, I'd see him once a week over there, or over on Plum Street in Cincy down by Fourth. The johns have a signal worked out with the car lights. Everybody knows it. You flash four times, then turn off the lights if you're looking to catch. Five times if you're pitching. Ira'd come by, give the signal, and I'd hop in on the driver's side and drive us down by the river. He didn't want to go to any of the clubs. Only this year, sometimes, he'd go to the clubs."
"What clubs?"
"The Ramrod. The
"Family? You mean your girlfriend?" Finch said slyly.
"What about her?"
"She's already involved, Terry. She's right outside the door."
"Bullshit, she is. Kitty wouldn't come here. She's not that stupid."
One of the cops, Lennart, started to laugh. "She's the one who turned you in, Terry. She told us where to find you -and Lessing."
The kid gave Lennart an icy look. "You're lying. Kitty wouldn't turn on me."
"But she did, Terry," Finch said.
"Fuck you," the kid said. "I don't believe it."
Finch opened the door and waved to someone out in the hall. A moment later a skinny redheaded teenage girl with a pale, freckled face came to the door. She stared at Carnova for a second, and her lower lip began to tremble violently. The kid eyed her with astonishment.
"You done it to me, didn't you?" he said, as if he couldn't believe it. "You give me up."
"I done it for your own good," the girl said tragically, and started to cry.
"Oh, shit." The kid collapsed in his chair, the unlit cigarette dropping from his mouth to the floor.
"Wha'd you tell them, Kitty? Wha'd've you done to us?"
The girl let out a squeal of anguish, and Finch signaled someone to take her away. He closed the door again.
Carnova sat bent over for a long time, the very image of pained betrayal. But I had the feeling that, like all of his behavior, this was borrowed too -from some movie or TV show. The tough kid betrayed. After a time he looked up balefully.
"You can't believe everything that girl says. She ain't right in the head."
"She's right enough to hang you, Terry," Finch said coldly.
He ducked his chin again. "She told you all of it, did she?"
"She told us you killed Lessing, and she told us where you hid the body."
"No more'n that?" he said curiously.
"It's more than enough, Terry," Lennart said.
Finch said, "Your reputation's shot, son. And your girlfriend doesn't want you anymore. You ready to make a statement now?"
The kid sat in silence for a moment, his brow working furiously, as if he was sizing up his situation. "Why not? You might as well get the story straight, long as Kitty done opened her mouth."
11
Once the stenographer came into the room, Carnova brightened up, as if he felt the spotlight on him once again.
Lennart and Finch sat down at the table. Gerard and I leaned against the walls.
"All right, Terry," Finch said. "Tell us about Lessing."
Carnova curled his lip in disgust. "He deserved killing -that faggot."
"I thought that's how you made your living," Lennart said. "Selling yourself to fags?"
Carnova looked deeply insulted. "It's just a gig, man. It's just a way of turning a dollar." He smiled a tough smile that made him look his age. "I ain't no fag myself. I hate 'em, man. I hate queers. I use 'em, that's all."
Gerard said, "You don't go down on them, Terry? You don't suck cock?"
"Hell, no! I let them go down on me. I make 'em pay to do it. Fucking fags."
"How about Lessing? Did he go down on you?"
"Sometimes," he said. "Yeah, sometimes I'd let him do me, if he paid good enough. But that really wasn't his bag, man. He liked . . . other things."
"How long have you known him, Terry?" Finch said.
"Since I was sixteen. We got together pretty regular since I was sixteen."
"How regular?"
"He'd cruise Monmouth in Covington 'bout once every two or three weeks, at the start. Last couple of years, I'd see him once a week over there, or over on Plum Street in Cincy down by Fourth. The johns have a signal worked out with the car lights. Everybody knows it. You flash four times, then turn off the lights if you're looking to catch. Five times if you're pitching. Ira'd come by, give the signal, and I'd hop in on the driver's side and drive us down by the river. He didn't want to go to any of the clubs. Only this year, sometimes, he'd go to the clubs."
"What clubs?"
"The Ramrod. The
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