"I don't like these handcuffs," Robbie said.

"I don't care," Jesse said without looking up. He studied the next document for a moment, shook his head, and put it in another pile.

"Couldn't you please take them off?"

Jesse read for another moment, then, still holding the document, he looked up at Robbie.

"You think I'm your camp counselor or something?" Jesse said.

"We got you for a felony, kid. You're going to jail."

"I didn't do anything," Robbie said. His voice was clogged, and Jesse knew he'd cry in a little while.

"I don't like these handcuffs."

"First thing to know," Jesse said, "now that you are officially a tough guy, is that from now on nobody will give one small shit about what you like and don't like. You're not home with your momma. You're in the machine now, boy. You want me to get you a lawyer?"

Jesse went back to his paper work. Robbie stared at him, and when he spoke again his voice was shaking and his eyes were wet.

"But I didn't do anything," he said.

"Not how I hear it," Jesse said absently, scanning a missing persons flyer.

"Heard you did the spray painting. Heard you actually poured the gasoline and struck the match."

"No." Robbie's voice was shrill now.

"Snapper and Earl were only in the house in the first place because they were trying to get you out. They both tried to stop you, but they were too late."

Robbie was crying now. There was a tape recorder on Jesse's desk. Jesse punched the RECORD button.

"No," Robbie said, struggling to talk through the sobs.

"No. I wasn't even in the house. I was outside watching chickie for the cops."

"Oh? So who set the fire?"

"I don't know. I wasn't even in there. Earl had the gas can."

"You're trying to tell me that he was in there with Snapper?"

"Snapper told us he found an open window at the fag house and he'd been in there and tagged the walls in the living room," Robbie said. He was talking as fast as he could, at the same time struggling not to wail.

"Earl stole the gas from my dad, for the power mower, and him and Snapper told me to watch for the cops, and they went in the house."

"Through the window?"

"No, Snapper left the door unlocked."

"And you went in and torched the place," Jesse said gently.

"No," Robbie almost screamed.

"No, I didn't. Snapper and Earl torched it."

Jesse punched the STOP button on his tape recorder. Then he got up and went around the desk and took the cuffs off Robbie's wrists. He shoved a box of tissues to the edge of the desk where Robbie could reach it and went back and sat down. He raised his voice.

"Suitcase?"

The door opened. And Simpson appeared.

"Time to talk with Earl," Jesse said.

TWELVE.

Macklin was having lunch outside on the patio at Janos restaurant in Tucson with an Indian named Crow. The Indian's real name was Wilson Cromartie, but he liked to be called Crow. He was wearing a shortsleeved white shirt, pressed blue jeans, polished boots, and a silver concho belt.

Everything about Crow was angles and planes, as if he had been packed very tightly into himself. The muscles bulged against his taut skin like sharp corners.

The veins were prominent. He wasn't much bigger than Macklin, but everything about him spoke of force tightly compressed. They were drinking margaritas.

"And you want me to be the shooter?" Crow said.

"Not just a shooter," Macklin said.

"I need a force guy, somebody can do the job on the operation and keep discipline in the crew."

"You can't do that?"

"I can do that, but I gotta run the whole dance, you know? Besides I don't scare people like you do."

"That's 'cause you look like some guy graduated Cornell," Crow said.

His voice had traces of that indefinable Indian overtone, even though Macklin knew that Crow hadn't seen a rain dance in his entire life.

"And I sound like it, and that works pretty good for me. But I still need a force guy."

"And you come all the way to Tucson to hire me?" Crow said.

"To cut you in," Macklin said.

"I'm trying to cut you in on the score of a fucking lifetime and you're asking questions like I was trying to steal your land."

"White eyes speak with forked tongue," Crow said.

"Don't give me that Geronimo crap," Macklin said.

"It's me, Jimmy Macklin. You wouldn't know a tepee from a pee pee, for cris sake

Crow's expression didn't change.

"Tepee bigger," he said.

A waitress came and took their lunch order. There were small birds in some dry desert shrubbery around the patio. They made a lot of noise.

When the waitress left, Crow said, "Twenty percent."

"I got too many expenses, Crow. I gotta get an electronics guy, explosives guy, guy with a boat. I can't afford to give you twenty."

"How much you taking?"

"Half," Macklin said.

"My show."

"And I'm the number-two man?"

"Absolutely."

"Twenty," Crow said.

"That only leaves thirty percent for everybody else," Macklin said.

"I can't get quality guys divvying thirty."

"Lie to them," Crow said.

Macklin grinned.

"How you know I promise you twenty, I'm not lying to you?"

"You know better," Crow said.

Macklin cocked a forefinger at Crow and brought the thumb down.

"Twenty it is," Macklin said.

THIRTEEN.

Abby Taylor was in Jesse's office with other lawyer.

"I've been retained to represent Carleton Jencks," Abby said.

"This is Brendan Fogarty, who represents the Hopkins boys."

Abby had on a maroon suit with a short skirt and a short jacket with no lapels.

"You a criminal lawyer, Mr. Fogarty?"

Jesse said.

"I'm Charles Hopkins' personal attorney," Fogarty said.

"This is a criminal case," Jesse said.

"Well," Abby said, "that's what we wanted to talk about."

Abby would be wearing maroon lingerie. When he had been in a position to know such things, her undergarments had always been coordinated.

"Go ahead," Jesse said.

"These are kids," Abby said.

"They made a mistake, but they have a life ahead of them. To press charges will just make matters worse."

"You talk to Canton and Brown?" Jesse said.

"Yes. They came to me to ask if I could represent them in a civil suit, but I had already been retained by the Jencks family."

"They don't want to press charges?"

"The Jencks family and, as I believe Mr. Fogarty will confirm, the Hopkins family are prepared to make financial restitution."

"If charges are dropped?"

"That would be the idea," Fogarty said.

"And what about the kids?" Jesse said.

"They get a second chance."

"To burn somebody else's house down?"

"They're kids, Jesse."

"And they burned down a house because they don't like the sex lives of the people who live there. What if they don't like your sex life?"

Jesse thought that Abby blushed faintly, but maybe he was wrong.

"Wait a minute, Jesse," Fogarty said.

"You don't know me," Jesse said.