hem cuts a
class at school or argues with his teacher. But there's nothing
unusual, and damn little of anything." He frowned.

Malone said, "Something's got to be wrong. What is it?"

"Well," Lynch said, "they do seem to have a hell of a lot of money to
spend."

Malone sat down in a chair across the desk, and leaned eagerly toward
Lynch. "Money?" he said.

"Money," Lynch said. "New clothes. Cigarettes. Malone, three of them
are even supporting their parents. Old Jose Otravez--Ramon's old
man--quit his job a couple of months ago, and hasn't worked since.
Spends all his time in bars, and never runs out of dough--and don't
tell me you can do that on unemployment insurance. Or social security
payments."

"Okay," Malone said. "I won't tell you."

"And there's others. All the others, in fact. Mike Fueyo's sister
dresses fit to kill, like a high-fashion model. And the Grito kid--"

"Wait a minute," Malone said. "From what you tell me, this isn't just
a little extra money. These kids must be rolling in the stuff. Up to
their ears in dough."

"Listen," Lynch said sadly, "Those kids spend more than I do. Hell,
they do better than that--they spend more than I _earn_." He looked
remotely sorry for himself, but not for long. "Every one of those kids
spends like a drunken sailor, tossing his money away on all sorts of
things."

"Like an expense account," Malone said idly. Lynch looked up. "Sorry,"
Malone said. "I was thinking about something else."

"I'll bet you were," Lynch said with unconcealed envy.

"No," Malone said. "Really. Listen, I'll check with Internal Revenue
on that money. But have you got a list of the kids' addresses?"

"I can get one," Lynch said, and went to the door.

It closed behind him. Malone sat waiting alone for a few minutes, and
then Lynch came back. "List'll be here in a minute," he said. He sat
down behind his desk and reached for the notebook again. When he
turned to the third page his expression changed to one of surprise.

"Be damned," he said. "There does seem to be a connection, doesn't
there?" He held up the picture of the red Cadillac for Malone to see.

"Sure does," Malone said. "That's why I want those addresses. If there
is a connection, I sure as hell want to find out about it."

Ten minutes later, Malone was walking out of the precinct station with
the list of addresses in his pocket. He was heading for his Great
Adventure, but he didn't know it. All he was thinking about w