The Girl in the Glass by Jeffrey Ford Page A

morning.
    "Oh," I said, "yesterday, after we picked up Schell and were driving out of the Barnes place, do you remember the car that passed us?"
    He took a drag of his cigarette, flicked the ash out the car window, and said, "Yeah, now that you mention it."
    "I tried to get a look at whoever was in that car. I'm pretty sure it was four men—big guys too. I couldn't get a look at any of their faces, but one thing I could see was that the driver was wearing a hat."
    "So?"
    "I think it was that hat. You know, the one you wore when you were Parks's mother." Antony sat still for a moment, taking in what I had told him. Then he turned to me, eyes squinting, brow furrowed. "Why?" he said.
    "Same style, same color, same big brim. If I remember when we bought it at the thrift store, it was actually a man's hat."
    He turned and stared out the windshield. "Oh shit," he said. "I wonder if Barnes is bringing booze in from Canada."
    "Why would he?" I asked.
    "I'll give you a million guesses," said Antony. He held up his right hand and rubbed his thumb and first two fingers together. "If you have a big enough operation, there's a fortune in it. You bring it in on Long Island, less cops, and you've got the city close enough to unload all of it and then some."
    "Would he do something like that?" I asked.
    He laughed once and rubbed his chin. "'Illegal' takes on a whole new meaning when you're loaded like Barnes. The rich have a separate rule book. To them if it makes money, it can't be wrong."
    "The only thing is, we have to tell Schell," I said.
    "Damn it," he said and smacked the steering wheel. "We are gonna have to tell him. I've got nothing against bootlegging. Prohibition is complete bullshit anyway, but this shows us something about Barnes that could be important. Are you sure it was that hat?"
    "No," I said. "But I'm mostly sure."
    "Jeez, trapped in my own spiderweb," he said. "My con is busted."
    "I don't think Schell's going to care," I said. "He'll be happy to get the news about Barnes."
    "Yeah, but if we tell him, you better be right," he said. "I'm gonna look like an ass."
    "Why should this instance be any different?" I said.
    I managed to open the door and get out of the car before Antony could grab me. He let himself out and stretched. Then he looked over at where I stood and said, "If I catch you, kid, I'm gonna wrap that turban around your neck."
    "Whatever moves in this moving world, abandon it and then enjoy," I said in my swami voice.
    "Enough of that," he said. "It's gonna get dark in about fifteen minutes. Where's Miss Hush?"
    "She's been gone a long time," I said.
    "Too long," said Antony. "We better find her."
    "I think she went this way," I said and pointed at a path that wound among the trees. We followed the path for a few minutes, looking all around, but saw no sign of our passenger.
    "Miss Hush," I called out. There was no response.
    We walked on a bit more until we came to a fork in the trail. "Lydia," he roared. We listened for her voice but heard only the sounds of crows in the treetops and a squirrel running through the brambles. Red leaves fell around us, joining others that littered the ground.
    "Okay, kid, you go that way," he said, pointing to the right. "I'll go this way. Just keep calling her. If you don't see anything by the time it gets dark, get back to the car."
    "All right," I said and took off down the path, calling her name. We yelled at intervals, and I heard Antony's voice for a good distance as I walked along. Darkness was falling quickly, and I wondered where she could have gone.
    About fifteen minutes later, when I was just about ready to turn back, I thought I heard something. When I looked around, I saw a crow lift off a fallen tree and fly up between barren branches. That's when I caught sight of a small structure sitting amid a thicket of pines. It was a dilapidated old shack with a tar paper roof. There was a broken window to the left of the door, which hung crookedly from a leather