At a slow jog she returned to Parker. Cage joined them. Lukas lifted her hands in exasperation.

Cage shrugged. "You get a look at him?"

"Nope," Parker answered.

"I didn't either," Lukas muttered. Then she glanced at Parker's hands. "Where's your weapon?"

"My what?"

"You were covering the alley. We had a shake going down and you didn't draw your weapon?"

"Well, I don't have one. That's what I was trying to tell you."

"You're not armed?" she asked incredulously.

"I'm civilian," Parker said. "Why would I have a gun?"

Lukas gave a disdainful look to Cage, who said, "Assumed he had one."

She bent down and tugged up her jeans cuff. Pulled a small automatic out of an ankle holster. She handed it to Parker.

He shook his head. "No thanks."

"Take it," she insisted.

Parker glanced at the gun in her hand. "I'm not comfortable with guns. I was Sci-Crime, not tactical. Anyway, my service weapon was a revolver, not an automatic. Last time I fired one was on the range in Quantico. Six, seven years ago."

"All you do is point and pull," she said, angry now. "The safety's off. First shot is double action, second single. So adjust your aim accordingly." Parker wondered where her sudden anger came from.

He didn't take the weapon.

She gave a sigh, which left her mouth as a long tendril of steam in the cooling temperature. She said nothing but pushed the gun further out toward him.

He decided the battle wasn't worth it. He reached out and took the gun. Glanced at it briefly and slipped it in his pocket. Lukas turned, without saying anything, and they continued up the street. Cage gave him a dubious look, forewent a shrug, and made a call on his cell phone.

As they walked along the street Parker felt the weight of the pistol in his pocket-a huge pull, much greater than the dozen ounces the gun actually weighed. Yet it gave him no comfort to have this weapon at his side. He wondered why. A moment passed before he realized. Not because the hot piece of metal reminded him that the Digger might have been behind them a moment ago, intent on killing him and Cage and Lukas. Or even because it reminded him of the Boatman four years ago, reminded him of his son's terror.

No, it was because the gun seemed to have some kind of dark power, like the magic ring in one of J. R. R. Tolkien's books, a power that had possessed him and was carrying him further and further away from his children with every passing minute. A power that could separate him from them forever.

The Digger is in an alley.

He's standing still, looking around him.

There are no agents or police around here. Nobody chasing him or looking for him. Nobody to shoot him. Or capture him and send him back to Connecticut, where he likes the forests but he hates the barred rooms they make him sit in for hours and hours and do nothing, where people steal his soup and change the channels of the TV away from commercials about cars and puppies so they can watch sports.

Pamela said to him, "You're fat. You're out of shape. Why don't you take up running? Go buy some Nike…" Click. "… some Nike jogging shoes. Go do that. Go to the mall. I've got things to do."

The Digger now thinks he sees Pamela for a minute. He squints. No, no, it's merely a blank wall in the alley.

Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and… click… and obey?

He was jogging with Pamela one day, a fall day, through red leaves and yellow leaves. He tried to keep up, sweating, his chest hurting the way his brain hurt after the bullet bounced around in his cranium. Pamela ran ahead and he ended up jogging by himself. Ended up walking home alone.

The Digger is worried about what went wrong at the theater. He's worried about all the police and agents and worried that the man who tells him things will be unhappy because he didn't kill as many people as he was supposed to.

The Digger hears sirens in the distance. Many sirens.

He starts through the alley. Lets the shopping bag swing in his arm. The Uzi is inside the bag and it's heavy again because he reloaded it.

Ahead of him, in the alley, he sees some motion. He pauses. There's a young boy He's black and skinny. He's about ten years old. The boy is listening to someone talk to him. Someone the Digger can't see.

Suddenly the Digger hears Pamelas voice: "Have… have… have… children with you? Have… have… have… your baby?"

Then the memory of the song goes away because there's a tearing sound and the gun and the suppressor fall through the bottom of the shopping bag. He bends down to pick up the gun and as he does he looks up.

Hmmm.

This isn't funny.

The young boy and an older man, dressed in dirty clothes, the man who was talking to the boy, are walking up the alley. The man is bending the boy's arm upward. The boy is crying and his nose is bloody.

They are both looking at the Digger. The boy seems to be relieved. He pulls away from the man and rubs his shoulder. The man grabs the boy's arm again.

The man looks down at the Uzi. He gives the Digger a crooked smile. Says, "Whatever you doing, ain' my business. I'ma just go on my way."

"Leggo my arm," the boy whines.

"Shuddup." The man draws back his fist. The boy cowers.

The Digger shoots the man twice in the chest. He falls backward. The boy jumps back at the loud sound. The suppressor is still on the ground.

The Digger aims the gun at the boy, who is staring at the body.

"If somebody sees your face…"

The Digger starts to pull the trigger.

"Have… have… have… children with you?" The words rattle around in his skull.

The boy is still staring down at the body of the man who was beating him. The Digger starts to pull the trigger again. Then he lowers the gun. The boy turns and looks at the Digger. He whispers, "Yo, you cap him! Man, just like nothin', you cap him."

The boy is staring right at the Digger's face. Ten feet away.

Words rattling around. Kill him he's seen your face kill him, killhimkillhimkillhim.

And things like that.

The Digger says, "Hmmm." He stoops and picks up the spent shells and then the suppressor and wraps it and the gun in the torn puppy bag and walks out of the alley, leaving the boy beside a garbage pile, staring at the body.

Go back to the motel and… click… go back to the motel and wait.

He'll have some soup and wait. He'll listen to his messages. See if the man who tells him things has called to tell him he can stop shooting.

When I hear you coming through the door…

Some soup would be nice now.

I know I love you all the more.

He made soup for Pamela. He was making soup for Pamela the night she… click. It was Christmas night. Twelve twenty-five. One two two five. A night like this. Cold. Colored lights everywhere.

Here's a gold cross for you, he said. And this box is for me?… A present? Oh, it's a coat! Thank you thank you thank you…

The Digger is standing at the stoplight, waiting for the green.

Suddenly he feels something touch his hand.

The Digger isn't alarmed. The Digger never gets alarmed.

He grips the gun in the torn puppy bag. He turns slowly.

The boy stands beside him, holding the Diggers left hand tightly. He's looking straight ahead.

Love you love you love you…

The light changes.

The Digger doesn't move.

All the more…