Win just lay asleep, a blanket of broken glass strewn over his blanket.

The next night, Myron called through the darkness of his bottom bunk. “Win?”

“Yes.”

“How do you sleep so soundly?” But Win didn’t answer because he’d fallen asleep.

On the phone Win asked, “What do you want?”

“Did all go well last night?”

“Mr. O’Connor hasn’t called you yet?”

“He has.” End of subject. Myron didn’t want details.

“I know,” Win continued, “that you did not awaken me to question my effectiveness.”

“Kathy Culver got only one A in her senior year at Ridgewood High. Guess who her teacher was.”

“Who?”

“Gary Grady.”

“Hmm. Dial-a-porn and high school English. Interesting vocational mix.”

“I was thinking we could go see Mr. Grady this morning.”

“At the school?”

“Sure. The two of us can pretend we’re concerned parents.”

“For the same kid?”

“Putting the rainbow curriculum to the test.”

Win laughed. “This is going to be fun.”

Chapter 15

“How do we find him?” Win asked.

They arrived at Ridgewood High School at nine-thirty. It was a warm June day, the kind of day where you stared at the window and daydreamed about the end of school. Not much movement around the building—as though the entire school, even the edifice, were coasting toward summer vacation.

Myron remembered how miserable such days were. It gave him an idea.

“Let’s pull the fire alarm,” he said.

“I beg your pardon.”

“We’ll get everyone outside. It’ll be easier to spot him.”

“Idiotically ingenious,” Win said.

“Besides, I always wanted to pull a fire alarm.”

“Walk on the wild side.”

No one noticed them when they entered the school. There were no guards, no locks on the door, no hall monitors of any kind. This was not an urban high school. Myron found a fire alarm not too far from the entrance.

“Kids, don’t try this at home,” Myron said. He pulled. Bells went off. Then cheers from the kids. Myron felt good about his deed. He thought about pulling alarms more often but decided some might construe the act as immature.

Win held the door open and pretended to be a fire marshal. “Single file,” he told the students. “And remember: Only you can prevent fires.”

Myron spotted Grady. “Bingo.”

“Where?”

“Turning the corner. On the left. Mr. Fashion.”

Gary Grady was wearing a yellow Century 21–like blazer with Keith Partridge orange-striped pants. Win looked visibly pained at the sight. They made their approach.

“Hi, Jerry.”

Grady’s head shot around. “That’s not my name.”

“Yeah, you told me. It’s your alias, right? When you do business with Fred Nickler. Your real name is Gary Grady.”

Nearby students stopped walking.

“Keep moving!” Gary snapped.

The students restarted their grudging trudge.

“Impatient teachers,” Myron said.

“Sad,” Win agreed.

Gary’s thin face seemed to stretch even further. He stepped closer so that no one could overhear.

“Perhaps we can continue this conversation later,” he whispered.

“I don’t think so, Gary.”

“I’m in the middle of a class.”

“Tough tittie,” Myron said.

Win arched an eyebrow. “Tough tittie?”

“Something about being back in high school,” Myron said. “Besides, I thought it appropriate considering the situation.”

Win considered for a moment. “Okay, I can accept that.”

Myron turned back to Gary. “The fire drill will last a little while. Then it will take a little while for the kids to file back in. Then they’ll want to goof around in the halls for a while. By then we’ll be all done.”

Gary crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”

“Option two, then.” Myron took out a copy of Nips. “We can play Show and Tell with the principal.”

Grady coughed into his fist. A loud fire whistle sounded. Sirens came closer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, taking a few more steps away from the kids.

“I followed you.”

“What?”

Myron sighed, gave him exasperation. “You were in Hoboken yesterday morning. You picked up the mail at an address used for advertising sex lines in porno rags. Then you went home to Glen Rock, saw me, panicked, and called Fred Nickler, the managing editor of said rags.”

“Amateur,” Win added with disgust.

“Now, we can discuss this with you or with the school board. Up to you.”

Gary glanced at his watch. “You have two minutes.”

“Fine.” Myron gestured to the right. “Why don’t we step into the teachers’ lavatory? I assume you have a key.”

“Yes.”

He opened the door. Myron had always wanted to see a teachers’ bathroom, see how the other half lives. It was unremarkable in every way.

“Okay, you have me here,” Gary said. “What do you want?”

“Tell me about this ad.”

Gary swallowed. His enlarged Adam’s apple bobbed up and down like a boxer’s head avoiding jabs. “I don’t know anything about it.”

Myron and Win exchanged a glance.

“Can I stick his head in a toilet?” Win asked.

Gary straightened his back. “If you are trying to frighten me, it won’t work.”

Win’s voice was semipleading. “One quick dunk?”

“Not yet.” Myron turned his attention back to Gary. “I have no interest in busting you, Gary. You’re a perv, that’s your business. I want to know about your connection with Kathy Culver.”

Sweat appeared above Gary’s upper lip. “She was a student of mine.”

“I know. Why is her picture in Nips? In your ad?”

“I have no idea. I saw it for the first time yesterday.”

“But that’s your ad, right?”

He hesitated, giving silent half-shrugs to no one in particular. “Okay,” he said, “I admit it. I advertise in Mr. Nickler’s publications. No law against that. But I did not put that picture of Kathy in the ad.”