Shepherd turned to Bobby Jay and Tate. “Watch her at all times,” he said, and walked out of the room.

Tate went over to the table and picked up Maya’s throwing knife. “Take a look at this,” he said to his brother. “It’s perfectly balanced.”

“We’re going to get the knives, her Harlequin sword, and some bonus money when Shepherd comes back.”

Maya flexed her arms and legs slightly, waiting for an opportunity. When she was much younger, her father took her to a club in Soho where they played three-cushion billiards. It taught her how to think ahead and organize a quick sequence of actions: the white ball would strike the red ball, and then bounce off the rubber cushions.

“Shepherd is way too scared of her.” Holding the knife, Tate walked over to Maya. “The Harlequins have got this big reputation, but there’s nothing backing it up. Look at her. She’s got two arms and two legs just like anybody else.”

Tate began to push the point of the knife against Maya’s cheek. The skin flexed and gave way. He pushed harder and a little dot of blood appeared. “Now look at that. They bleed, too.” Carefully, like an artist shaping wet clay, Tate made a shallow cut from the side of Maya’s neck to her collarbone. She felt blood oozing out of the wound and trickling across her skin.

“See. Red blood. Just like you and me.”

“Stop fooling around,” said Bobby Jay. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

Tate grinned and returned to the table. For a few seconds, his back was turned and he blocked his brother’s view. Maya fell forward, onto her knees, and pulled her arms as far back as possible. When she was free of the chair, she slipped her arms beneath her pelvis and legs. Now her hands were in front of her.

Maya stood up-wrists, ankles still bound-and leaped past Tate. She somersaulted over the table, grabbed her sword, and landed in front of Bobby Jay. Startled, he fumbled inside his leather jacket for a gun. Maya swung the sword with two hands and slashed open his neck; blood sprayed out from the cut artery. Bobby Jay started to fall, but she had already forgotten about him. Sliding the sword down behind the black rubber fan belt, she cut her legs free.

Move faster. Now. She stepped around the table toward Tate while he reached beneath his oversized shirt and grabbed an automatic. As he raised the weapon, Maya moved to the left, swung down hard, and chopped off his forearm. Tate screamed and staggered backward, but she was on him immediately, slashing back and forth across his neck and chest.

Tate dropped to the floor and Maya stood over his body, clutching her sword. The world became smaller at that moment, collapsing like a dark star into one small point of fear and rage and exultation.

The Corrigan brothers had been living upstairs at the clothing factory for four days. That afternoon Mr. Bubble called Michael and assured him that his negotiations with the Torrelli family in Philadelphia were proceeding smoothly. In a week or so Michael would have to sign some transfer-of-ownership documents and then they would be free.

Deek showed up in the evening and ordered Chinese food. He sent Jesús downstairs to wait for the delivery van and started a chess game with Gabriel. “Lotta chess in prison,” Deek explained. “But the bruthas there play chess the same way. They attack and keep on attacking until somebody’s king goes down.”

It was very quiet in the factory when the sewing machines were switched off and the workers went home to their families. Gabriel heard a car come down the street and stop in front of the building. He peered out the fourth-floor window and saw a Chinese driver get out of his car with two bags of food.

Deek stared at the chessboard, considering his next move. “Somebody gonna get angry when Jesús pays them. That driver come a long way and cheap Jesús give him a one-dollah tip.”

The driver got the money from Jesús and began to walk back to his car. Suddenly the driver reached beneath his warm-up jacket and pulled out a handgun. He caught up with Jesús, raised the weapon, and blew off the top of the bodyguard’s head. Deek heard the gunshot. He hurried over to the window as two cars roared up the street. A crowd of men jumped out and followed the Chinese man into the building.

Deek punched a number on his cell phone and spoke quickly. “Get some bruthas over here, fast time. Six men, with guns, comin’ through the door.” He switched off the phone, picked up his M-16 rifle, and motioned to Gabriel. “You go find Michael. Stay with him ’til Mr. Bubble come and help us out.”

The big man moved cautiously toward the staircase. Gabriel hurried down the hallway and found Michael standing beside the folding cots.

“What’s going on?”

“They’re attacking the building.”

They heard a burst of gunfire, muffled by the walls. Deek was in the stairwell, firing down at the attackers. Michael seemed confused and frightened. Standing in the doorway, he watched Gabriel pick up the rusty shovel.

“What are you doing?”

“Let’s get out of here.”

Gabriel cracked the shovel through the lower part of a window frame and pried the window open. Tossing the shovel away, he forced the window up with his hands and looked outside. A four-inch-wide concrete molding ran around the side of the factory. The roof of another building was six feet across the alleyway, one floor lower than where they were trapped.

Something exploded inside the building and the power went off. Gabriel went over to the corner and grabbed his father’s Japanese sword. He thrust its hilt down into his backpack so that only the tip of the scabbard was sticking out. More gunshots. Then Deek screamed with pain.

Gabriel put on the backpack and returned to the open window. “Let’s go. We can jump to the other building.”

“I can’t do that,” Michael said. “I’ll screw up and miss.”

“You have to try. If we stay here, we’ll get killed.”

“I’ll talk to them, Gabe. I can talk to anybody.”

“Forget it. They don’t want to make a deal.”

Gabriel climbed out of the window and stood on the molding with his left hand holding on to the window frame. There was enough light from the street to see the roof, but the alleyway between the two buildings was a patch of darkness. He counted to three, then pushed off and fell through the air to the tar-paper surface of the roof. Scrambling to his feet, he looked up at the factory building.

“Hurry up!”

Michael hesitated, made a move like he was going to climb out the window, and then pulled away.

“You can do it!” Gabriel realized that he should have stayed with his brother and helped him go first. “Remember what you’ve always said. We’ve got to stick together. It’s the only way.”

A helicopter with a mounted spotlight roared across the sky. The beam cut through the darkness, briefly touched the open window, and continued across the top of the factory.

“Come on, Michael!”

“I can’t! I’m going to find someplace to hide.”

Michael reached into his coat pocket, took something out, and threw it to his brother. When the object fell onto the roof Gabriel saw that it was a gold money clip holding a credit card and a wad of twenty-dollar bills.

“I’ll meet you at Wilshire Boulevard and Bundy at noon,” Michael said. “If I’m not there, wait twenty-four hours and try again.”

“They’re going to kill you.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be all right.”

Michael disappeared into the darkness and Gabriel stood alone. The helicopter flew back over the building and hovered in the air, its engine roaring, the big propeller stirring up dust and bits of trash. A spotlight beam hit Gabriel’s eyes; it was like staring at the sun. Half blinded from the glare, he stumbled across the roof to a fire escape, grabbed a steel ladder, and let gravity pull him down.