"Get in the car."

I walked in front of him. His car was empty. He opened the passenger door. I got in. Watched him walk around to the driver's side. His gun was back in his holster.

"You're under arrest. Assault on a police officer. You have the right to…"

"Save it. Do what you have to do. You know I never touched you."

"Not you. Your pals. Whoever they were. I never saw them. But you…you're gonna tell me who they are. Where to find them. Right?"

"I didn't see anything. I was facing the wall."

"That's the way you want it?"

"I don't want any of this. It's you who want things. Things happened, they happen. Whatever you think, I didn't write the script."

"I heard things about you," he said. Lighting a cigarette with the dashboard lighter, not offering me one. "From my partner. He said you were a man. That you could be trusted. We go in on a thing with you- and you Pearl Harbor us- leave us with our dicks in our hands."

"You ever rap a guy in the head with your nightstick when you were in uniform?"

He didn't say anything- that was my answer.

"What if the guy had an eggshell skull? What if he died?"

"Never happen."

"You mean it never happened. There's a difference, right? It could happen. And you wouldn't have meant it to come down like that. But the guy would be just as dead."

"You saying that's what happened with you in the massage parlor?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just saying…you plan things…sometimes the wheels come off. You do the best you can with it. Survive."

"We found out some things. Since everything blew up in Times Square. The guy we found in pieces in the construction site- there was a contract out on him."

"I don't know…"

"Yeah, you don't know what I'm talking about, hit man. I didn't think that was your side of the street."

"It's not."

"There's a mob contract out on a guy. The guy gets dead. We know you did it. We're supposed to think it was personal?"

"Think what you want- that's what you been doing."

"Give it another spin."

"Not a chance. You keep playing me for something I'm not. You pulled my jacket- you know I'm not a soldier. I'm not a hired killer, and I'm not stupid."

"We got you tied into that skell. The one that got iced in the playground."

"That was the charge I was arrested on. So how come I'm on the street?"

"I look like a fucking pansy judge to you? You think I give a fuck about probable cause?"

"You say that to say what?"

"We weren't going to be pals, Burke. But you don't want me for an enemy."

"Amen."

"So give me something."

I lit a smoke. Used my own matches. Watching the color drift back into his face. His right arm still hung limp.

"I'll give you something, Morales. I'll give you a couple of things. On the house. One, your source. The one who you say tied me into some homicide in a playground. And the one who told you about a contract on a guy you found in Times Square. They're the same man. The same family man. Two, you fucking know he's a liar."

"So you say."

"Save it for the first offenders, cop. You believed this guy, you'd take me down. Like you said, we're not pals. But I know you. You thought it was me, you sincerely thought I burned you and McGowan, you'd flake me with a piece instead of just selling me wolf tickets about carrying one."

A smile twisted on his face. "You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Say you're right…just to be saying it, okay? What's in it for this guy who dropped a dime on you?"

I crossed my hands in front of my chest, one finger pointing at Morales, the other to my door. "He did it. Not me."

"Yeah. But we weren't looking at this guy. He wasn't a suspect."

"He would be, you kept at it. A cold wind's gonna blow."

"Torenelli's daughter?"

"I look Italian to you?"

"When I thought you were okay, you looked sorta Spanish to me. Now…now you look Italian."

"I never meant to offend you. I'm not against you. I just want to do my time. On the street, in the jail, wherever. Just do my time. Be left alone."

"That kind of privacy…it costs."

"I can't pay what I don't have. And I don't borrow."

"You already owe something."

"If I do…if I get the chance, I'll pay it off. Square it up. Ask around. I pay my debts."

"I think you paid at least a couple. I find out you did it for cash, I'll get you. That's a promise."

I threw my smoke out the window. "So I'm not busted?"

He didn't say anything when I opened the door and climbed out.

I WASN'T under surveillance. The cops don't have the manpower for that, and Morales was still with the Runaway Squad anyway. He'd probably been prowling Lily's joint, watching to see if any of the kiddie pimps he hated so much were working the corners. When he saw me, he couldn't pass it up.

The phone man was where he said he'd be. We passed each other on the steps of the Federal Courthouse in Foley Square. A quick handshake and we each had what we came for.

I WAS IN MAMA'S arguing with Max over his stunt with Morales when the phone rang in the back.

"Young girl," Mama sad, sitting down.

I picked up the receiver. "What?"

"It's me. Elvira. You said to call today. I told you I would."

"I need to talk to you. About your mother. About Train."

"Go ahead."

"Not on the phone."

"Maybe you can come here. I'll ask…"

"Never mind. I can come there, but I want to talk in private. Tell me where you'll be, I'll pick you up."

"I'm not sure…"

"Not sure where you'll be or…"

"I'm not leaving here."

"Elvira, I wanted you out of there, you'd be out of there. I'm going to talk with you, one way or the other."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"I don't want you to be afraid of me. I want to talk to you."

"And then…"

"And then you go back to wherever you want to go. And you never see me again. Okay?"

A long pause. I wondered who else was listening, signaling to her.

"Okay," she finally said into the phone. "Where and when?"

"Tomorrow morning. On the corner of Flatbush and Tillary. The Brooklyn side of the Manhattan Bridge. Ten o'clock."

"How long will I be?"

"Couple of hours."

"Goodbye," she said. Hung up.

NEXT MORNING, the Plymouth an anonymous hulk lurking just outside the remnants of the commuter traffic stream. Max in the back seat, black wool Navy watch cap on his head, heavy gloves on his hands. He was only wearing a gray sweatshirt- it wasn't that cold out.

She must have walked from Train's building. I spotted her a couple of blocks away, stone-washed jeans, a dungaree jacket, hair in a pony-tail. A kid cutting school. I stepped out of the car, waved to her. She broke into a clumsy little trot.

I opened the passenger door and she climbed inside, Max moving in behind her like water flowing over a rock. "Huh!" she said, surprised. I was sitting in the driver's seat by then.

"Elvira, this is my brother, Max."

She snuck a sideways look, mumbled "Hi," eyes downcast. I fired up the Plymouth, heading over the bridge.

"Where're we going?"

"To see a friend of mine."

"How come he's here."

"Just along for the ride."

"I thought we were going to talk private."

"Max can't hear. He's deaf."

"For real?" An off-key note in her voice.

"Yeah. For real."

We came off the bridge into Chinatown, tunneling through the narrow back streets to Lily's. Elvira fumbled in her purse, brought out a cigarette. Max snapped a wooden match, held it for her. She said "Thank you" in a finishing-school voice. Max bowed slightly. "Does that mean 'You're welcome'?" she asked.