Malone thought of a question and
asked it. "They know you?" he said.

"Sure they do," Lynch said. "They all know me. But do they know you?"

Malone thought. "They could have heard of me," he said at last, trying
to be as modest as possible.

"I guess," Lynch said grudgingly.

"How old are they?" Malone said.

"Fourteen to seventeen," Lynch said. "Somewhere in there. You know how
these kid things run."

"The Silent Spooks," Malone said meditatively. It was a nice name, in a
way; you just had to get used to it for a while. When he had been a kid,
he'd belonged to a group that called itself the East Division Street
Kids. There just wasn't much romance in a name like that. Now, the
Silent Spooks--

With a wrench, he brought his mind back to the subject at hand. "Do they
get into much trouble?" he said.

"Well, no," Lynch said reluctantly. "As a matter of fact, they don't.
For a bunch like that, around here, they're pretty well-behaved, as far
as that goes."

"What do you mean?" Malone said.

Lynch's face took on a delicately unconcerned appearance. "I don't
know," he said. "They just don't get into neighborhood trouble. Maybe a
scrap now and then--nothing big, though. Or maybe one of them cuts a
class at school or argues with his teacher. But there's nothing unusual,
and 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 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."

"O.K.," 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. 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 sp