"I promise," said Theo. "In fact, I'll call Jack now and tell him to hand over the jumpsuit to the cops."

Cy grabbed the jumpsuit before Theo could, then shoved it against his nephew's chest. Their eyes locked for a period of time that seemed much longer than it was, neither man saying a word. Finally, Cy broke the silence, Theo's comment about four wasted years on death row seeming to have carried the day.

"Burn it," he said.

“ON THREE WE'RE GREEN,” SWAT leader Michael Penski whispered, his voice breaking the radio squelch in Andie's ear.

Andie was in a cover position behind a coral-rock fence across the street from the target residence. She didn't live and work beneath the SWAT rainbow, but she knew that yellow was code for the final position of cover and concealment. Green was the assault, the moment of life and death, literally. With the aid of night vision, she watched the well-choreographed SWAT movements unfold in a wave of stealth.

Penski counted down in a calm voice that reflected years of training: one… two… three. The word "three" unleashed a cacophony in Andie's headset, the sound of shattered glass and a blown-out door. She braced herself for the crack of gunfire, but she heard only the shouts of Special Agent Penski and his team as they swept through the house.

"Down on the floor, now!"

Andie's radio crackled with more shouting. Moments later, the front door opened and Penski gave a hand signal as he announced over the radio, "All clear."

Andie ran across the lawn and hurried through the front door. Penski and another SWAT agent were standing outside the bathroom. Their night-vision goggles were up, and the ceiling light had been switched on. Through the open doorway, Andie saw an old man kneeling on the bathroom floor beside the tub. His hands were untied, though the torn rags that had bound them together were still dangling from one wrist. A saliva-soaked gag lay atop the sink. He wore only his boxer shorts and was apparently unharmed. But he was sobbing uncontrollably, staring down at what appeared to be a small white dog.

It was little more than a blood-soaked stain on the white tile floor.

"He smashed Puffy with a hammer," the old man said, his voice quaking.

Andie could only presume that Puffy had been the "strange noise coming from the house" that the next-door neighbor had reported to 911.

The man continued. "He said he'd do the same to me, if I made a move before daylight."

Andie was a dog lover herself, but no matter how distraught the old man was, she needed to get Reems's photograph in front of him. She carried it with her at all times, as did everyone on the task force." Is this the man who did that?"

He only glanced at the photograph. "I saw his picture on television this morning. It was the guy who busted out of prison last night. He even stole my clothes."

Andie got a description of the clothing, then asked, "Did he have a gun?"

"I didn't see one."

"How long ago did he leave?" Andie said with urgency.

"Couple of hours ago, maybe."

"Did he steal your vehicle?"

"No. I didn't drive here. I was out walking my-" With that painful reminder of his beloved companion, he broke down.

Andie needed to question him further, but she filled the emotional pause with a quick phone call to the task force leader.

"Talk to me," Miller said over the encrypted cell connection.

Andie gave him the essential details and then launched into her recommendation. "Let's reactivate choppers and canine units. Get MDPD going door-to-door and highway patrol roadblocks on major east-west thoroughfares south of turnpike Exit 11. Reems is wearing a green-and-white madras shirt, khaki pants. Assume he's still armed and clearly dangerous. Estimate he's at most two hours out from our current position, but the timing of the neighbor's 911 call would put it at even less than that."

"Are you certain that the subject left the target residence on foot?" asked the deputy marshal.

"No vehicle sightings as yet."

"What's your recommended containment perimeter?"

"That's your call. But…"

"But what?"

She hesitated. Andie did like Theo, and what she was about to say would only make it harder to convince Jack that she wasn't out to get his best friend. "We have to deal with the likelihood that the subject will double-back to what he considers safe ground."

"Meaning?"

She hated to say it, but she couldn't ignore the information in the BOLO. "Sparky's Tavern."

“The woman is trying to kill me," said Theo.

He was speaking to Jack, who was seated on a bar stool at Sparky's. Theo was on the working side of the bar, his white shirtsleeves rolled all the way up to his bulging biceps and his Pop-eye forearms resting atop the Formica. An old Marvin Gaye tune – Jack's selection – played as the Saturday night crowd started to fill the booths and tables.

Jack said, "Trina's crazy about you."

"Stop being fecesish."

"You mean facetious."

"No, I mean you're talking shit."

"Trina doesn't want to kill you," said Jack.

"Maybe not. But she wants to hurt me real bad."

"Let me talk to her. Where is she?"

"Hell if I know. I told her not to come around here no more."

Theo fished a dreaded hazelnut out of the bowl of mixed nuts on the bar and pitched it into a wastebasket thirty feet away. If hazelnuts were the NBA's sphere of choice, Theo would have been a Hall of Fame power forward.

"Exactly what did she do that was so horrible?" asked Jack.

"She told me to get a Prince Albert."

Jack's expression was blank. "I have no idea what that is."

"Neither did I, till she sent me down to the Keys to see this guy named Manny." Theo looked from side to side, making sure no one could overhear. The young women to Jack's left seemed sufficiently engaged in conversation with a couple of guys who – Theo would have bet his liquor license on it – had left their wives at home.

Theo said, "Manny's a body piercer. And a Prince Albert is a metal ring through the head of your penis."

Jack's mouth opened, but the words didn't come. Finally he said, "Ouch! Why would Trina want you to get that?"

"Sends a woman into orbit, I guess."

Jack narrowed his eyes, as if trying to imagine how. "Whatever turns you on."

"Don't get me wrong. I dig a woman who's always looking for better sex."

"They put it right through the head?" said Jack. Theo's last remark hadn't even registered. It seemed that Jack's internal pain meter was still processing the procedure, and his brain simply couldn't handle any additional information.

Theo said, "They actually punch a hole on the underside, and they thread it all the way up and out through-"

"Enough!" Jack closed his eyes, as if not comprehending, and then he opened them slowly. "I swear, sometimes I feel like I'm Rip Van Winkle and the whole world flipped out while I was asleep."

"Don't beat yourself up. Turning myself into the Penis Currently Known as Prince is even too much for me."

"So you're not going to get it?"

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"Hey," he said, stepping back as he motioned toward his crotch. "They don't make rings this freakin' big."

"That's a problem."

"Not to mention the hassle. Imagine setting off metal detectors for the rest of your life and having to announce to the world, “Calm down, folks, nothing to worry about. It's just my dick ring.”

"I can see where that would get old."

"And let's not forget, we're talking about a ring, a needle, and the one-eyed monster. You don't go stickin' a needle in the monster's eye."

"You make a strong case."

"Damn straight."

The married guys seated near Jack ordered cocktails for exhibits A and B in their future divorce proceedings. Theo was making cosmopolitans when Uncle Cy tapped him on the shoulder.