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Since the floods, the whole neighborhood stinks like the underside of a wharf. And, like the underside of a wharf, this allows a certain kind of life to thrive.
    My plan is to drop in at the Bait & Switch, knock back a few drinks, and ask some questions. Maybe I’ll even get lucky. Unearth my Persephone.
    Instead I’m only halfway down Van Brunt Street when I stumble on the same pair of police cars I saw back in Brooklyn Heights, with an ambulance besides, all pulled over at the end of Coffey Street, parked by the Valentino Pier.
    Roof-lights swirling. Turning the dead-end block into a disco.
    On the stoops, wallflowers watch.
    Guess the cops weren’t headed to Harrow’s after all. Though I’m not too eager to wander over, in case they’re out on some Lyman Harrow—related APB. Then I hear a crackled command on one cop’s walkie-talkie and realize that’s not what they’re here for.
    Two cops shine their Maglites into the back of an abandoned van.
    Black van. Or blue. Black or blue. Too dark to tell.
    Even so, my chest clenches.
    Which is weird.
    Because what exactly am I worried about?
    That someone got to her first?
    Still, no one should go this way. Not like this.
    I shoulder closer through the sparse crowd of mostly bored onlookers. One cop halfheartedly tries to shoo us all back while also checking texts on his phone.
    Phone chirps. Incoming message. Cop smirks. Funny text.
    I edge to the front of the crowd.
    Van’s back doors are flung wide open. Blankets piled up inside.
    Body under the blankets, if my eyes see right. Or bodies.
    My eyes see right.
    EMS guys yank the first stiff from the back.
    Not a girl, though.
    A man.
    Dump him on to a gurney.
    Arm flops over the side.
    Back of his hand. A tattoo.
    &.
    So much for leads.

    First body lays splayed out on the stretcher, bloody and neglected, and it’s not like TV. No one solemnly says a prayer or pulls a sheet up over his head. These EMS guys have other things to worry about, like rolling up another gurney and pulling the second body from the van.
    Also a man. Also mangled.
    Signs of serious knife-work.
    I ask the texting cop what happened. He doesn’t even look up from his phone.
    Who knows? Lovers’ spat? Some random psycho? Ask me, smells like some homo 69 gone very wrong.
    I wince. Play squeamish.
    Looks like those guys got slashed to ribbons.
    Cop shrugs.
    Sometimes passions run high.
    Any leads?
    Cop looks up finally.
    Human garbage lives around here? Take your pick. I’m just surprised whoever did this didn’t torch the van. Would have saved us a trip. Let fire worry about it.
    How long’s that van been here?
    No more than a few hours, maybe. Only got called in because some thugs pried the back open, looking to loot it, and got spooked. Found more than they expected and phoned 911. Not until they’d stolen both stiffs’ wallets, of course. And stripped out the stereo.
    Phone chirps again. New text. Cop smirks again.
    I say thanks as I retreat back into the crowd.
    Don’t really worry about him remembering my face.
    I’m not that memorable.
    Just a garbageman.

    I should have remembered.
    Bitch cut my face
.
    First rule of the runaway. Always carry a blade.
    And don’t be bashful about using it.
    She definitely wasn’t bashful.
    Which is when I wonder if maybe I’ve been underestimating this Persephone.
    My Persephone.
    Interesting girl.
    And still has some claw in her yet.

6.
    The Bait & Switch is hard to miss, since it’s the last place in Red Hook, housed in a small brick building at the end of Van Brunt Street, on the last block before you walk straight into the river. And turns out the butler was more right than he knew. The bar’s sign has a bright neon fishhook, twisted to look like an ampersand, between the words BAIT and SWITCH .
    Spot it six blocks away. Bar must be running a private generator to get that much wattage out here.
    Ampersand blazing like a flare sent up over an otherwise pitch-black street.
    So if Persephone