he punk screamed at Becker, "Megan belongs to my friendEduardo! You stay away from her!"

"Where is she?" Becker's heart was racing out ofcontrol.

"Fuck you!"

"It's an emergency!" Becker snapped. He grabbedthe kid's sleeve. "She's got a ring that belongs tome. I'll pay her for it! A lot!"

Two-Tone stopped dead and burst into hysterics. "You meanthat ugly, gold piece of shit is yours?"

Becker's eyes widened. "You've seen it?"

Two-Tone nodded coyly.

"Where is it?" Becker demanded.

"No clue." Two-Tone chuckled. "Megan was up heretrying to hock it."

"She was trying to sell it?"

"Don't worry, man, she didn't have any luck.You've got shitty taste in jewelry."

"Are you sure nobody bought it?"

"Are you shitting me? For four hundred bucks? I told herI'd give her fifty, but she wanted more. She was trying to buya plane ticket—standby."

Becker felt the blood drain from his face. "Whereto?"

"Fuckin' Connecticut," Two-tone snapped."Eddie's bummin'."

"Connecticut?"

"Shit, yeah. Going back to Mommy and Daddy's mansionin the burbs. Hated her Spanish homestay family. Three Spicbrothers always hitting on her. No fucking hot water."

Becker felt a knot rise in his throat. "When is sheleaving?"

Two-Tone looked up. "When?" He laughed."She's long gone by now. Went to the airport hours ago.Best spot to hock the ring—rich tourists and shit. Once shegot the cash, she was flying out."

A dull nausea swept through Becker's gut. This is somekind of sick joke, isn't it? He stood a long moment."What's her last name?"

Two-Tone pondered the question and shrugged.

"What flight was she taking?"

"She said something about the Roach Coach."

"Roach Coach?"

"Yeah. Weekend red-eye—Seville, Madrid, La Guardia.That's what they call it. College kids take it 'causeit's cheap. Guess they sit in back and smokeroaches."

Great. Becker groaned, running a hand through his hair."What time did it leave?"

"Two a.m. sharp, every Saturday night. She's somewhereover the Atlantic by now."

Becker checked his watch. It read 1:45 p.m. He turned toTwo-Tone, confused. "You said it's a two a.m.flight?"

The punk nodded, laughing. "Looks like you're fucked,ol' man."

Becker pointed angrily to his watch. "But it's onlyquarter to two!"

Two-Tone eyed the watch, apparently puzzled. "Well,I'll be damned." he laughed. "I'm usually notthis buzzed till four a.m.!"

"What's the fastest way to the airport?" Beckersnapped.

"Taxi stand out front."

Becker grabbed a 1,000-peseta note from his pocket and stuffedit in Two-Tone's hand.

"Hey, man, thanks!" the punk called after him."If you see Megan, tell her I said hi!" But Becker wasalready gone.

Two-Tone sighed and staggered back toward the dance floor. Hewas too drunk to notice the man in wire-rim glasses followinghim.

Outside, Becker scanned the parking lot for a taxi. There wasnone. He ran over to a stocky bouncer. "Taxi!"

The bouncer shook his head. "Demasiado temprano. Tooearly."

Too early? Becker swore. It's two o'clock inthe morning!

"Pídame uno! Call me one!"

The man pulled out a walkie-talkie. He said a few words and thensigned off. "Veinte minutos," he offered.

"Twenty minutes?!" Becker demanded. "Y elautobus?"

The bouncer shrugged. "Forty-five minutos."

Becker threw up his hands. Perfect!

The sound of a small engine turned Becker's head. Itsounded like a chainsaw. A big kid and his chain-clad date pulledinto the parking lot on an old Vespa 250 motorcycle. Thegirl's skirt had blown high on her thighs. She didn'tseem to notice. Becker dashed over. I can't believeI'm doing this, he thought. I hate motorcycles. Heyelled to the driver. "I'll pay you ten thousand pesetasto take me to the airport!"

The kid ignored him and killed the engine.

"Twenty thousand!" Becker blurted. "I need to getto the airport!"

The kid looked up. "Scusi?" He was Italian.

"Aeropórto! Per favore. Sulla Vespa! Venti millepesete!"

The Italian eyed his crummy, little bike and laughed."Venti mille pesete? La Vespa?"

"Cinquanta mille! Fifty thousand!" Becker offered. Itwas about four hundred dollars.

The Italian laughed doubtfully. "Dov'é la plata?Where's the cash?"

Becker pulled five 10,000-peseta notes from his pocket and heldthem out. The Italian looked at the money and then at hisgirlfriend. The girl grabbed the cash and stuffed it in herblouse.

"Grazie!" the Italian beamed. He tossed Beckerthe keys to his Vespa. Then he grabbed his girlfriend's hand,and they ran off laughing into the building.

"Aspetta!" Becker yelled. "Wait! I wanted a ride!"