'Two!' he said, his voice weak. He barely got the bar up to where his elbows locked. He brought it down slowly to his chest, breathed in, and pushed with everything he had.

He didn't count this time. It was difficult to get the bar up at all. His arms burned and shook, and he felt his face grow hot. The bar was only halfway up and it wouldn't, couldn't go any farther. He looked up pleadingly at Ray.

'I got it,' said Ray. He reached over the towers and gripped the bar, pulling it up toward him.

'You got it?' said Lizardo.

'I got it,' said Ray.

Lizardo let go of the bar and allowed his hands to fall to his sides. Ray drew the bar up to the height of the towers. He looked over at his father and smiled stupidly.

'Hey, Daddy,' said Ray, as he released the bar.

Lizardo screamed, watching the barbell fall. The bar crushed his Adam's apple and windpipe, and broke his neck. For a moment, but only for a moment, Lizardo saw the spray of blood that he coughed up into the room.

Nestor dropped the gym bags. His hands shook wildly as he fumbled inside his jacket for the.9.

Earl drew his.38 and shot Nestor in the back of the head. Nestor's black hair crested, a wave of crimson arcing out above it, and as he pitched forward Earl shot him between the shoulder blades. When Nestor hit the ground, his legs kicking, Earl put his palm out above the hammer of the.38 and shot Nestor once more behind his ear.

Ray laughed nervously, squinting at his father through the cordite. There was only Ray's laughter for a while, and a ringing sound in their ears.

Earl slipped the.38 back into his jacket. He checked his clothing for blowback and saw that he was clean. He was glad he'd put his palm out as a shield. He washed his hands in the sink.

'Got a smoke, Daddy?'

'Yep.'

Earl shook one out for himself and one for his son. He flipped open the Zippo, thumbed the wheel, and got flame.

Earl dragged and exhaled. 'You plan that?'

'Kind of came to me,' said Ray, 'while we were out in the saloon, havin' our drinks.'

'You were plannin' it, you shoulda told me.'

'Seemed like an opportunity. Coleman was havin' a problem with those boys-'

'He asked you to talk to 'em, is all.' Earl hit his smoke. 'Guess you better get you a shovel, Critter.'

'Ground's too hard for that. I got somethin' else in mind, least until this cold spell breaks. Meantime, I got to get over to that shopping center before it empties out. Clean those trunks out and get on back.'

Earl nodded and smoked.

Ray smiled. 'Well, Daddy, you said you wanted out.'

'Uh-huh.'

'Well, we are out now, aren't we? And we are going to be rich. Ain't nothin' we can't have.'

'I could use some company,' said Earl, thinking of that pretty little colored junkie, down in D.C.

'A woman, you mean?'

'You don't have someone to share it with,' said Earl, 'all this good fortune, it just don't mean a thing.'

Strange sat in his office, reading the transcripts of the Quinn hearings, Greco asleep at his feet. A red rubber ball with rubber spikes on it rested between Greco's paws.

Strange brought the boxer into work with him once or twice a week, when the dog begged. Earlier that morning, when Strange had headed for the front door with the car keys in his hand, Greco had looked up at him with those big browns of his and whined something fierce. Strange couldn't bear to think of the dog standing in the foyer all morning, pacing back and forth, barking at every car that slowed down or parked on the street.

He picked up his phone and hit Janine's extension.

'Yes, Derek.'

'Anything on Kane's address?'

'I've got it out here. He lives with his mother, apparently.'

'What about his phone number?'

'I've got that, too. But it cost us twenty dollars. I put it on your credit card.'

'Damn.'

'You can get anything off the Internet, for a price.'

'Ron out there?'

'Uh-huh.'

'What's he doin'?'

'Looks like he's reading the newspaper to me.'

'I pay him to read the paper?'

'You know I don't get into your business, Derek.'

'Print out a copy of that page where you gave them my Visa. I need to show it on my expense sheet.'

'I already did it.'

'Good. And call Lydell Blue over at the Fourth District, see if he ran a sheet for me yet on Ricky Kane.'

'I'll do it.'

'I'll be out in a few.'

Strange finished reading the transcripts. Much of the information had been duplicated in the newspaper and television reports. He carefully read Quinn's statement and the corroborating statement of his partner, Eugene Franklin. Then he read and reread the testimony of Ricky Kane.

On the night of the shooting, Kane, a restaurant and bar worker, was driving across town after his shift at the Purple Cactus, a trendy eatery on 14th and F, when he pulled over on D Street to urinate. Kane explained that he had downed 'a beer' after work, had begun to feel the effects of a weak bladder, and saw that D Street was deserted as he drove east. Standing beside the open door of his Toyota, 'I pulled out my penis and prepared to urinate,' when a Jeep, 'the military-looking kind,' came from around the corner, its brights tapped on, and stopped behind his Toyota.

The lights from the Jeep were in his eyes and blinding as Kane 'tucked myself back in' and zipped up his fly. A 'large black man' came through the glare of the lights and was upon him at once, yelling in an extremely agitated manner for Kane to produce a license and registration.

'What did I do?' Kane asked the black man.

'You were pissin' in the street,' said the black man. 'And don't even think of lyin' about it, 'cause I saw you holdin' your little pecker plain as day.'

The man was broad, 'like a weightlifter,' and taller than Kane by a head. Later, Kane would be told that the man's name was Chris Wilson and that he was an out-of-uniform cop.

Kane said here that he detected the strong smell of alcohol on Chris Wilson's breath.

When a man had been drinking, even one beer, thought Strange, it would be difficult to smell alcohol on another man's breath. Strange made a line through this statement with a yellow accent marker.

'Who are you?' asked Kane. 'Why do you need to see my license?'

'I'm a cop,' replied Wilson.

Kane was frightened, but 'I knew my rights.' He asked to see Wilson's badge or some other form of identification, and that's when Wilson 'became enraged,' grabbing Kane by the lapels of his shirt and throwing him up against the car. Kane suffered severe back pain immediately, he said.

'Aw, shit,' said Strange, under his breath. That was for the benefit of a future lawsuit, right there. Greco opened his eyes, lifted his head up, and looked up at Strange.

Kane claimed to have 'a moment or two' of blackout then. He next recalled lying on his back in the street, with Wilson crouched down upon him, one knee on his chest. There was a gun in Wilson's hand, 'an automatic, I think,' and he was holding it 'point-blank' in Kane's face.

Kane said that he had never known that kind of fear. Spittle had formed on the edges of Wilson's mouth, his face was 'all twisted up with anger,' and he was repeating, 'I'm gonna kill you, motherfucker,' over and over again. Kane had no doubt that Wilson would. He was 'embarrassed to say' that when Chris Wilson pressed the muzzle of the gun to his cheek and rolled it there, Kane 'involuntarily voided' his bowels.

Strange read the police report from the scene. Going by the statement of one officer who reported that he detected a strong fecal smell coming off him, Strange concluded that indeed, Ricky Kane had dirtied his drawers that night.

Kane said that at the point when Wilson had him pinned to the ground, a marked police cruiser pulled onto the scene. Two police officers, one black and one white, got out of the cruiser and ordered Wilson to drop his weapon. Kane's description of the events that followed were roughly in keeping with the statements made by officers Quinn and Franklin.