"Shut the fuck up," said Malcolm. "'Jectory be up. See Charles's brains on the roof there? You in no danger, nigger."

Doo-Rag glowered.

"Get the machines," said Malcolm.

Doo-Rag flashed a last look but went around behind the truck, cut the padlock with bolt cutters, and crawled in. A couple of minutes later he came around the driver's side carrying a stack of DVD players.

"You sure they the right ones?" said Malcolm.

"Yeah, I sure I'm sure," said Doo-Rag. He pointed to the decal with the serial number on top of each of the players.

Malcolm nodded and Cutter came around the front of the truck. The others made way for him. Cutter removed a small knife from his pocket, pulled open a screwdriver blade, and opened the back of the top DVD.

"You right for a change, Doo." Malcolm nodded again, Cutter took the DVD players, and everyone except for Doo-Rag and Malcolm headed for the Astro Van. "Start the engine," said Malcolm. "Set the block."

"Fuck that," said Doo-Rag. "All that blood and brains and shit. Top of the fucker's head gone, man. Dude could be HIV positive or something."

Malcolm grinned and set the barrel of his huge Smith & Wesson Model 686 Powerport.357 Magnum up alongside Doo-Rag's head. "Get the keys. Start the truck. Set the block."

Doo-Rag crawled in and did all those things. The engine roared as the wooden block was jammed against the accelerator.

"Now," said Malcolm, stepping back, "trick be to pop that brake off, put it in gear, and get the fuck off the running board before truck get there, my man." Malcolm pointed to the edge of the gorge less than fifty feet in front of the truck. There was a light fence there, but no guardrails. Some traffic passed on the road, but no cars pulled into the empty rest area.

Doo-Rag smirked, kicked the brake off, leaned delicately over Charlie's slumped, bleeding corpse, kicked in the clutch, and hit the gearshift lever.

The truck bounced over the concrete parking chock and tore up frozen turf as it roared for the fence.

Doo-Rag rode along for a minute, swinging on the running board, stepping off nonchalantly at the last possible second before the truck tore through the fence and plummeted out of sight, ripping trees and branches off the side of the cliff as it went.

Malcolm set the.357 back in its long shoulder holster under his topcoat and applauded. Doo-Rag ignored him and watched the truck fall.

It was a little over two hundred feet to the river below. This gave the truck time to do a half gainer,

Charlie's corpse flying out the open door in the dark, before the vehicle slammed, upside down, into the huge rocks right at the edge of the swirling water. Dozens of VCRs and DVD players went flying out over the river, each one making its own splash. One of them almost made it as far upriver as the whirlpool. Everyone in the van cheered at the noise that came up out of the deep gorge.

There was no explosion. No fire.

Charlie had been planning to gas up on the American side, where the fuel was cheaper.

"I didn't really expect to see you again, Mr. Kurtz," said Peg O'Toole.

"The feeling was mutual," said Kurtz. He had left the office phone as his contact number, and Parole Officer Peg O'Toole had called saying that he was required to come in to finish his first appointment. Arlene had said that O'Toole had sounded a bit surprised that Kurtz had a real, live secretary.

"Shall we pick up where we left off?" said O'Toole. "We were discussing the fact that you needed a permanent address within the next week or so."

"Sure," said Kurtz, "but can I ask a question?"

The parole officer removed her tortoiseshell glasses and waited. Her eyes were green and cool.

"When they dragged me out of here," said Kurtz, "they wanted to pin a murder rap on me when they knew I wasn't involved. During the arraignment, the charge was changed to illegal possession of a firearm and violating parole. Now that's been dropped."

"What is your question, Mr. Kurtz?"

"I'd like to know what you had to do with the charge being dropped."

O'Toole tapped her lower lip with the stem of her glasses. "Why do you think I had something to do with the charges being dropped?"

"Because I think Hathaway… the homicide cop who dragged me out of here…"

"I know Detective Hathaway," said O'Toole. There was the slightest hint of revulsion in her tone.

"… I think he would have gone ahead with the illegal-carry parole-violation charge," finished Kurtz. "During the interrogation at the city jail, he showed me a throwdown he was ready to plant on me, and I know that he wants me in County for his own reasons."

"I don't know about any of that," O'Toole said curtly. "But I did check into your arraignment" — she hesitated a few seconds—"and I did let the district attorney know that I was present during your arrest and watched the detectives frisk you. You weren't armed when they arrested you."

"You told the D.A. that?" said Kurtz, amazed. When O'Toole said nothing more, he said, "What if Hathaway testified that I had an ankle holster or something?"

"I watched them frisk you," she said coolly. "There was no ankle holster."

Kurtz shook his head, truly surprised. He had never heard of a cop going out of his or her way to keep another cop from railroading someone.

"Can we get back to your interview?" she asked.

"Sure."

"Someone answered the phone number you gave me and identified herself as your secretary…"

"Arlene," said Kurtz.

"… but anyone can claim to be anyone on the phone," finished O'Toole. "I'd like to visit your business office. Did I say something amusing, Mr. Kurtz?"

"Not at all, Officer O'Toole." He gave her the address. "If you call ahead, Arlene will let you in the back way. It might be preferable to coming in the front."

"And why is that?" Her tone was suspicious.

Kurtz told her.

This time it was the P.O. who smiled. "I worked Vice for three years, Mr. Kurtz. I can probably take a transit through a porno shop."

Kurtz was surprised for the second time. He didn't know of many parole officers who had been real cops.

"I saw you on the Channel Seven WKBW Eyewitness News yesterday evening," she said and waited.

Kurtz also waited.

"Is there any special reason," she said at last, "that you happened to be at the site where a truck had gone into the gorge the night before?"

"Just rubbernecking," said Kurtz. "I was driving along the expressway up there, saw the TV trucks, and pulled into the turnout to see what all the commotion was."

O'Toole made a note on her pad. "Were you on the American side or the Canadian side?" Her tone was casual.

Kurtz actually grinned. "If it had been the Canadian side, Parole Officer O'Toole, I would have been in violation of my parole, and you'd be sending me to County within the hour. No, I think you could tell from the angle that they were shooting video from the American side. I guess they couldn't get a clear shot from where the truck actually went over."

O'Toole made another note. "You seemed almost eager to be seen in the cutaway shots to the crowd," she said.

Kurtz shrugged. "Isn't everyone eager to get on TV?"

"I don't think you are, Mr. Kurtz. At least, not unless you had a specific reason to be seen there."

Kurtz looked blandly at her and thought, Christ, I'm glad Hathaway isn't as smart as she is.

She checked something else off her list. "All right, about your place of residence. Are you settled yet?"

"Not really," said Kurtz, "but I'm getting closer to finding a permanent place to live."

"What are your plans?"

"Eventually," said Kurtz, "I'd like one of those big houses on the bluffs up toward Youngstown, not far from Fort Niagara."