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“Any you guys seen Carrera?” he yelled into the whir of bicycle wheels and grunting of weight lifters.

“Try … steam … room …” panted a crewcut behemoth who was bench pressing what looked like about a thousand pounds. He pointed toward a doorway just beyond a row of stationary bikes.

Rudy, walking through the doorway, found himself in a smallish, sour-smelling locker room. Rows of scarred, battleship-gray lockers with slatted wood benches between them filled the place. A dozen or so guys were dressing or undressing, some naked or with towels wrapped around their waists, others shaving or blow-drying their hair in front of a row of sinks and mirrors. On the wall to his right, Rudy could see a slab of metal with a big pull handle that looked like the door to a meat locker. A sign above it read: STEAM ROOM. He was about to make his way inside when he realized he was still fully dressed. He’d look pretty funny, wouldn’t he, going in there with all his clothes on?

But, slipping down his trousers, he began to feel like maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. He didn’t mind so much being naked … but next to Val, he’d feel like a slug crawling in there, just looking to get squashed.

His heart began to hammer.

Then he reminded himself, hey, they wouldn’t be alone in there. With other guys around, Val wouldn’t risk getting vicious. Besides, when you got right down to it, what did he have to lose?

Grabbing a damp towel from the bench by the door, Rudy wrapped it around his pudgy waist. He hadn’t put even one foot inside the steam room, and he could feel sweat rolling off him. Christ, he hated feeling so … so exposed.

But everything… Laurel… little Nicky … hinged on Val. Rudy had to see her, and Val was his ticket. If he could get Val to give him this one break … get him to talk to Laurel, just talk to her, for Chrissakes, that’s all he was asking. Get her to see that he, Rudy, hadn’t meant to hurt her. She hadn’t answered any of his letters, and the dozens of times he’d called her, she’d hung up as soon as she realized it was him. He’d waited and waited …

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hoping she’d come around. But now he couldn’t wait any more. If he didn’t do something, then soon it might be too late… .

A locker door clanged shut. Rudy glanced at the big clock on the wall, and saw that it was almost three-thirty. Jesus, he’d better get moving. He had to be at the doctor’s in an hour.

Pulling open the door to the steam room, Rudy was half blinded by billowing clouds. He glimpsed the edge of a bench, then a ghostlike foot, a hand. Val? He took a deep breath to calm his pounding heart, and a gout of steam clogged his lungs. He coughed, feeling as if he were choking. The heat, already almost unbearable, seemed to be growing hotter. Jesus Christ, did people do this for/wn? He’d never before been in a steam bath, and after this hoped he’d never have to set foot inside one again.

“That you, O’Donnell?”

Val’s deep voice drifted toward him, strangely muted. Rudy stiffened. Jesus, were he and Val the only ones in here?

Now his eyes were adjusting. Through the mist, he made out a single figure draped across the lower bench. A muscular, whitehaired man, stark naked, reclining on one elbow, with one leg stretched out and the other flexed, resting on the wooden slats. Rudy’s stomach lurched, and he had an urge to duck out, now, before Val recognized him.

But then his mind was filled with his last image of Laurel-standing on a freezing sidewalk, big with child, waving a mittened hand good-bye. He had to see her … just one more time. And the little boy who’d come so close, so very close to being his.

Rudy walked over to where Val was lounging.

“Hiya, Val.”

Val stared, shock dawning on his sweat-sheened face. His cold black eyes fixed on Rudy like a snake’s.

“Jesus Christ … how did you … what the fuck do you want?”

Rudy, swallowing his own anger, studied his brother. At fifty-two, an age when most men were losing their hair

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and letting out their suits, Val only seemed to have grown fitter, harder, more chiselled. Seeing him lounging there, wreathed in mist, tanned muscles glistening, Rudy felt smaller and uglier than he had walking in. Even Val’s dick-for Chrissakes-it was the size of a fucking fire hose.

“I want to talk to you,” he said, struggling to keep the bitterness from his voice. “Just talk, that’s all.”

“Yeah? Well, why is it that whenever you talk, I seem to get fucked over?”

Val sat up, planting his feet on the floor tiles, the muscles in his arms coiling, fists clenched. He was getting that look in his eye. Trouble.

“For Chrissakes, Val, it’s been years. Haven’t you punished me enough?”

“Enough? You?” Val roared. He shot to his feet, towering over Rudy like a mountain, his snowy head obscured in a cloud of mist. “You call this punishment? After what you did? Jesus, I oughta wring your fat little neck!” With his index finger, he jabbed Rudy in the chest.

Rudy backed up a step, dull pain burgeoning where he’d been poked, and he felt the warm kiss of tile against his backside.

“Listen, I …”

“You listen to this.”

Val’s hand raked through the mist, catching Rudy across his face, a sharp open-handed blow that knocked him into the wall. As his head struck the tiles, Rudy heard a crack like an icicle snapping in two. A white flash exploded behind his eyes. A hot, coppery taste flooded his mouth, and he realized he was bleeding.

Hatred rose in Rudy, black, choking. A slap, a lousy slap. Had Val used his fist on him, Rudy could have taken that, could have written it off. A fist showed respect, at least. A slap was how you hit a woman.

Rudy let out a high, braying laugh. “Go ahead, beat the shit out of me, wring my neck. You’d be doing me a favor.”

That stopped him. “What the fuck you talking about?”

“I mean I’m gonna die anyway. Might as well kick

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off in a steam room with my loving brother’s hands wrapped around my neck.” He chortled, feeling himself seized by a sort of semi-hysteria. “Hey, sounds kinda of cozy, don’t you think?”

“What kinda shit are you pulling, Rudy?”

“Just the truth, which, come to think of it, is pretty shitty.” He tapped his gut. “Cancer. The kind you don’t talk about in polite company.”

“You don’t look sick to me.”

But Rudy could see from Val’s suddenly less-thansure expression that a worm of doubt was wiggling into his pea-sized brain.

“I feel okay most of the time. Doctor gave me this stuff to drink, radioactive Maalox or something. And pills. Painkillers. I take so many pills, I’m gonna turn into Elvis Presley.”

“Well, Christ, you don’t look like him.”

They both snickered that time.

Then Val caught himself, his eyes narrowing with menace.

“I swear, Rudy, if you are shitting me, I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking wipe the floor with you.”

“Okay, go ahead. But don’t you want to hear what I have to say first?”

“You mean there’s more? Jesus!”

“I didn’t come here to tell you I was sick, if that’s what you mean.” Rudy spoke carefully, not wanting this to turn into some kind of tearjerking reunion. “You coulda found that out reading my obituary. Hey, mind if I sit down?” With the back of his hand, he wiped away the blood that had mixed with his sweat and was running off his chin. He felt shaky. And scared. Not of Val … but of what lay ahead.

Val gestured toward the bench, but he remained standing.

“It’s funny,” Rudy began, keeping his voice light, even semi-amused, “the things that go through your head when you know you’re dying. Like I was remembering the time Shirley had an attack of motherhood and took us out

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to Coney Island, and on the way back you got sick on the subway from all the hot dogs you ate.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Sure, because 7 was the one who got clobbered for it.”

“How do you mean? Why you?”

“I shoulda kept a better eye on you, Shirley said, made sure you didn’t eat so many. But you always were cramming too much stuff into you.” He chuckled, the effort sending a thread of bile up his throat. “When it came to goodies, you could never get enough.”

“Yeah? Well, what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Nothing. Except, I’ve been thinking, I was just a kid myself, see, and there I was, supposed to be looking after you. It kinda gets to be a habit after a while, you know?” He licked his lips, which, oddly, felt dry as cardboard. “You see, when I first located Annie and Laurel, I was gonna tell you. Honest to Christ, that was my first thought. ‘Cause you know I always looked out for you.” He paused to let this sink in before launching into the second half of his lie. “But then Laurel told me if I ever let on to you, and you tried to get near her, Annie was going to find a way to kill you. The way she said it, well, I believed her. ‘Cause I knew what she did to your head. She’s one tough little piece, let me tell you.”

“That bitch. I wish I’d kicked the shit out of her when I had the chance.” Val lashed out with his hand, which landed this time with a wet splat against the tiles inches from Rudy’s throbbing head.

“So you see, I was kinda stuck. I was looking out for you, just like I always have. Okay, so maybe I didn’t handle it so perfectly. Maybe I shoulda told you. But you know how things get, they just sort of snowball, and then wham. Look, Val, I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry.”

“How come you never told me this before?”

“You wouldn’t let me!”

A tug of war seemed to be taking place right on Val’s face, his ingrained suspicion straining against wanting to have his smarter, richer older brother back on his side.

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Finally, he sank onto the bench beside Rudy. Rudy felt a bright bead of triumph rise in him.

“Yeah, well…” He glanced wearily at Rudy. “You really that sick, huh?”

Rudy shrugged. “I’ll spare you the gory details.”

“They got these clinics in Mexico …”

“Laetrile. Yeah, I’ve heard. Maybe I’ll give it a shot. Anything’s worth a try, I guess.” He touched Val’s arm. “Look, they say when you’re dying your life passes before your eyes, sort of like instant replay. Only if you’re jumping off a cliff, or getting knifed in the gut, there’s no time to do very much, is there? So I figure I’m lucky that way … I’ve got some time to make amends. Starting with you.”

“I’m touched.”

The way he said it, Rudy couldn’t tell whether he meant it or not. He felt himself getting faint; Rudy looked down, and saw that his legs had grown as shiny and pink as boiled shrimps. Christ, if he didn’t get out of here pretty soon, he’d pass out.

“Laurel,” he said, and stopped. Even saying her name, he was getting choked up. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt as if it were clamped shut. Finally, he got the words out. “I need to see her. But I don’t want her to know … about this.” He touched his stomach.

But Val, dammit, was shaking his head.

“Forget it. She’d never go for it. Why don’t you just tell her you’re sick? She’s a soft touch … I mean, if she knew you were about to croak and all, she’d probably feel sorry for you and decide to let bygones be bygones.”

Jesus Christ, didn’t Val get it? Rudy didn’t want Laurel’s pity, for Chrissakes. What he wanted was … just to see her one last time, to explain.

“I’ve got my reasons,” he said.

“Yeah, I know, you’ve always got your reasons.” Bitterness crept into Val’s voice. So much for giving his dying brother a break. Fuck you, Val, and the ass you rode in on. But then, when had Val ever cared about anybody but himself?

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“Will you do it? Talk to her?” He tried not to sound as if he were begging, but he wanted this so badly.

“I don’t know,” Val hedged. “Listen, I got a good thing going now, and I don’t want to mess it up. She could take it the wrong way if I was to start dragging you into her life.”

In other words, you don’t want the well to dry up. Rudy knew that shifty-eyed look … goddammit, Val had been hitting Laurel up for money. He didn’t have to look in Val’s wallet to know that’s why he was so hesitant.

Suddenly, Rudy saw the future as clearly as if it were a billboard right out there in front of him. While Val slowly dug himself deeper and deeper into a hole, he would go on borrowing money from her. And then one day, years from now, when he was a pathetic old man, broke, and too feeble or too sick to do any kind of work, then he’d really start sucking up. He’d push all the right buttons, get her to feel sorry for him, to take care of him. Jesus. And, he, Rudy, wouldn’t be around to do a damn thing about it.

Rudy suppressed a shudder. “How much?” he growled. “How much would it take? I’ll pay you.”

“Jesus. What do you think? I’m some kind of lowlife what’d try and put the squeeze on his sick brother?” Val tried to look offended, but Rudy could almost smell the circuits in his brain sizzling away.

“I’m not saying that,” Rudy said, suddenly tired, too tired to call him on his bullshit. “Look, think of it as … well, an inheritance, sort of. After I die, everything goes to Laurel and the boy. But this way, you’ll be taken care of, too.”

And Laurel, I hope, will be off the hook as far as you’re concerned.

“Jesus, Rudy …”

“How does three hundred thousand sound?”

Val looked as if he was going to fall right off that bench. “You shitting me? Three hundred grand?” Through the cloud of steam, Rudy saw his brother’s eyes grow wide with greedy incredulity.

“‘Course you wouldn’t be getting it all in one lump.

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It’s locked up in investments, but they throw off a nice income.”

“How much?”

“Roughly? Around three thousand a month. Not a fortune, but if you stay away from the tracks and the tables, you could live pretty comfortably.”

Val stood and began pacing, his soles making soft slapping sounds against the wet tiles … but it was clear he’d already made up his mind.

“I don’t think she’d agree to see you at her house … she’d be nervous about you being around the boy. But when I called the other day, she told me she’s going to some big shindig at the Plaza Hotel this weekend. I could call her back … sort of soften her up … then ask her to meet you in the lobby or for a drink in the bar, maybe.”