I struggled to hold onto the yowling child while fumbling a quarter into the pay phone and jamming down the buttons to dial Nick's mobile.

"Ragged Angel Investigations," Nick answered. His voice was tense, I thought, anxious.

"It's Harry," I said. "You can relax, man. I found her."

"You did?" Nick asked. He let out a long exhalation. "Oh, Jesus, Harry."

The kid lifted up one of her Oxford shoes and mule-kicked her leg back at my shin. She connected, hard enough to make me jump. She looked like a parent's dream at eight or nine years old, with her dimples and dark pigtails—even in her street-stained schoolgirl's uniform. And she had strong legs.

I got a better hold on the girl and lifted her up off the ground again while she twisted and wriggled. "Ow. Hold still."

"Let me go, beanpole," she responded, turning to glower back at me before starting to kick again.

"Listen to me Harry," Nick said. "You've got to let the kid go right this minute and walk away."

"What?" I said. "Nick, the Astors are going to give us twenty-five grand to return her before nine p.m."

"I got some bad news, Harry. They aren't going to pay us the money."

I winced. "Ouch. Maybe I should just drop her off at the nearest precinct house, then."

"The news gets worse. The parents reported the girl kidnaped. And the police band is sending two descriptions around town to Chicago P.D., and they match guess who."

"Mickey and Donald?"

"Heh," Nick said. I heard him flick his Bic, and take a drag. "We should be so lucky."

"I guess it's more embarrassing for Mister and Missus High-and-Mighty to have their kid run away than it is to have her kidnaped."

"Hell. Kidnaped girl give them something to talk about at their parties for months. Make them look richer and more famous than their friends, too. Of course, we'll be in jail, but what the hell?"