Free THE LAST BOY by ROBERT H. LIEBERMAN Page B

nodded.
    “You know, Louie—I mean, hey, what am I supposed to call you?”
    “Lou's fine,” he smiled.“Louie, well that's my Uncle Louie. I was Louie when I was a kid.”
    “Lou,” she repeated absently. She was thinking about Chuck. And her father. How when it came to the crunch, you just couldn’t rely on a man.
    Tripoli was saying something to her. “Huh?” she said, waking from her reverie.
    “I was asking about your work? The people you work with?”
    “You mean Larry Pierce?”
    “Well everybody,” he said and she gave him a quick rundown of the magazine, about Sandy and Ben and Doreen. He kept probing, asking about the company's finances, its backers, the people who came and went at the office—which seemed odd. All the while hekept taking notes.
    Tripoli lifted Danny's photo from the pile that lay strewn on the low table.“We have your description of Danny, but I just want to go over it with you again.” He replaced the photo and picked up his notepad.“Sometimes people miss things.”
    Molly went through her litany, the plaid shirt, the bib overalls, the sneakers.
    “Any identifying marks, that might help us? You know, a chipped tooth or a…”
    Molly though about it.
    “He has a small scar on his forehead, on his right side just above his eyebrow. Got it when he fell off the monkey bars.”
    Tripoli noted it down.
    “He chipped a tooth. But just a little bit. You can hardly see it.”
    “Anything else?”
    Molly thought for a moment.“Well, he has this small birthmark on the back of his neck.”
    “What color?”
    “Sort of wine red. The kids at daycare used to tease him about it, but he never let it bother him. He told them it was his star for being good.”A tear dropped into Molly's lap.“It almost did look like a star with points.”
    “Anything else?
    “No, I think that's all.”
    When he was satisfied, Tripoli closed his notebook and sat thoughtfully for a moment.“Do you think I could see where Danny sleeps.”
    Molly looked at him surprised. “Why would you want to do that?”
    “Sometimes you can pick up—well, not a clue but an idea.”
    “You’re not into that psychic stuff, are you?”
    He smiled and shook his head.“No way.”
    “Last thing in the world I want,” she said, leading the way to the rear of the trailer,“is a cop who thinks he can get my kid back with some mumbo jumbo.”
    Tripoli could feel the trailer sway under his feet as they walked, as if it were a boat loosely moored to its pier.
    “We share this room.” Molly sounded apologetic. “It's just till I can get a bigger place, a nicer one. We’ve been saving,” she said. “Danny and me. We have this plan.”
    She watched Tripoli as his eyes searched the room in which there was barely enough space to accommodate the beds that met head to head in the far corner. The small area in the center was littered with toys. There was a fort made of blocks peppered with little plastic soldiers. Military men with bazookas and automatic weapons.
    “Oh? What plan is that?” He was kneeling down in front of the toy shelf, examining the boy's toys. A Mutant Marauder Mobile Command Unit. Nerf soccer ball. Puzzles. Two cowboy hats. Spurs. A sheriff 's badge. And guns, lots of guns. A pair of western six shooters in a holster. A Supersoaker. Three different light sabers.
    “We were…are…going to buy a little place in the country. Danny loves being outdoors. And he wants a puppy so bad. I promised him we’d do it. When he wouldn’t let me leave him at daycare in the beginning, I told him I was working to…” Molly felt her throat close and tears start to come, but she caught herself. “I was working so that we could get the money to buy a little farm. Not a real farm, you know, but a…” she blinked to clear her eyes.“Which is why every morning he’d let me…” She couldn’t go on. Why was she running at the mouth, telling Tripoli all this? What difference could it make?
    Tripoli picked up the