Pike said, "We get the chance, we take them in traffic." He took out his Python and held it in his lap.

I let the Sentra make its first corner, then I jerked the Taurus around and caught up to them going east on Ca.n.a.l to climb the Manhattan Bridge across the East River to Brooklyn.

The bridge was electric with late-afternoon congestion as thousands of cars raced for home before the bridge gridlocked. If the bridge was locked now, what we were trying to do would be easy, but the bridge wasn't locked. Traffic coursed and b.u.mper-to-b.u.mper cars weaved from lane to lane, cutting each other off, hitting their brakes and making it hard to keep the Sentra in sight. Pike rolled down the pa.s.senger window and climbed out to sit on the door, but it didn't help. Eight cars ahead of us and two lanes over, the Sentra took the second exit ramp over the Brooklyn sh.o.r.e and that's where we lost it.

Pike said, "Off-ramp."

I blew the horn and cut in and out between three cars and knocked the b.u.mper off a green Dodge station wagon, but I kept going.

We jumped across the two right lanes and hit the off-ramp in a skid and followed it down in a great looping arc over factories and waterfront and chain-link fences and bridge supports, Pike standing as tall as he could in the window, trying to spot the Sentra, finally yelling, "Got it."

The Sentra was below us in a U-Stor-It yard under one of the on-ramps leading back to Manhattan. The two guys were out of the Sentra's front seat and Ric and Peter and Dani were getting out of the back. One of the guys from the front was wearing a red leather jacket with very wide shoulders. The other had a gun out. Revolver.

We came off the ramp at the rear of the storage yard on the wrong side of a ten-foot chain-link fence. I said, "Faster to go over it."

We went up and over and came out between two corrugated-metal storage sheds eighty yards away as Ric took out the stainless-steel ten, pointed it at Peter, and said something to the guy with the revolver. Peter was standing with his hands up the way he'd had actors stand in his movies. Eighty yards away, you could see that his face was white and his eyes looked scooped out behind the thick gla.s.ses. Dani was maybe a half step in front of him. Peter said something to Ric and put out his hands, maybe saying please don't shoot, and Ric raised his gun to eye level and Dani went for him. I yelled, but it didn't do any good. Ric's gun popped once and the right back quarter of Dani's head blew off. Then I had the Dan Wesson out and Pike had his .357 and we were firing at them, eighty yards away, me screaming at Peter to get down, but Peter standing there, still with his hands up.

The guy with the revolver went down.

Ric ran toward the Sentra, firing as he went, and the guy in the red jacket pulled out a black automatic. Bullets slapped into the little corrugated sheds around us with the sound of hammers. .h.i.tting garbage cans and left silver streaks on the tarmac where they hit and bounced into a concrete bridge support. The guy in the red jacket fired fast, bapbapbap bapbapbap, and then he went for the Sentra, too. I shot him in the back. He fell in through the Sentra's front pa.s.senger window as Ric roared away, fishtailing into storage sheds and a boat trailer, and then through the far gate.

When the Sentra was gone, the storage yard was still.

We got to Dani as fast as we could, but there wasn't anything to do.

Peter said, "He told that guy Ric to kill me." He was talking fast and there was a knot below his left eye, like maybe someone had hit him there. His hands were still in the air. "Just like that, he said kill'm. I said I'm Peter Alan Nelsen. I said you can't kill me. He said, you wanna bet? And then these guys were bringing us out here and they were gonna kill me." Me. Me and I.

I stood up. "Dani."

He was hopping from foot to foot, confused and squinting at me. "What?"

"They killed Dani." I said it carefully, each word distinct.

He gave me more of the confused and said, "What?" Pike was squatting next to her body and I was standing over her, and Peter and I were talking about her, but he hadn't looked at her and he hadn't said anything about her. He said, "I told'm you can't do this to me. I'm Peter Alan Nelsen."

I went over to him and said, "Put down your hands."

He put down his hands.

I punched him in the chest with my right hand. He fell backward and landed hard on his b.u.t.t and said, "Hey, what did you hit me for?" Surprised.

I grabbed him by the hair and lifted him as high as I could and I hit him in the face. His nose popped with a little spray of blood and I hit him again. He started to cry. I said, "Who's lying right there? What's her name?"

"Dani." He still wouldn't look at her.

"Look at her."

"No." Blubbering now.

I knotted his hair between my fingers and turned his face toward the body and pointed at her. "Look at her."

He clenched his eyes tight. "No!"

I slapped him hard on the left side of his face two times and then I dug my fingers at his eyes, prying them open. I said, "Look at her, you sonofab.i.t.c.h. Dani's lying there and not you. They killed Dani. Do you see her? They didn't kill you." Peter covered his face, peering out from between his fingers at what was left of the woman who picked up his candy wrappers. I said, "Do you see her, Peter?"

He coughed out a great whooping sob. "Dani."

I let go of him.

He rocked forward and crawled toward her body. "It's my fault," he said. "Oh G.o.d, it's my fault."

I didn't say anything. I was breathing hard and something sharp throbbed behind my right eye.

Peter sat on his knees next to her, and touched her muscular arm, and cried all the harder. It made me feel ashamed.

Pike came up behind me. "Ric will go to DeLuca. Things will happen fast now."

"Yes." I took a deep breath and let it out. "Peter?"

"What?" He didn't look at me.

"Did you tell Charlie that we were on to the Jamaicans?"

He nodded, still not looking at me.

"Did you tell him we knew about the secret accounts?"

Another nod.

It felt cold and damp and ready to snow. Above us, the roadway vibrated with cars and trucks and thousands of people. Around us was a city of millions. We'd fired maybe fifteen high-velocity pistol rounds, yet no one came.

Pike said, "Charlie will panic. He'll do the first thing he thinks of and that means he'll come for us and for Karen and the boy. He won't want anyone around who knows about the accounts or the Jamaicans."

I looked down at Dani. "We'll have to leave her."

Pike said, "Yes."

I lifted Peter Alan Nelsen to his feet. He didn't look at me or at Pike and he didn't resist; he stared at Dani's body.

I said, "Did you hear? Did you understand?"

Peter nodded.

"All right."

Pike took Peter by the arm and led him back to the car.

I took off my G-2 jacket, ripped my name out of the inside collar, and put it over Dani's head. Then I followed after them.

Thirty-three.

I stopped at the Texaco station in Chelam and used the pay phone to call Karen Lloyd at the bank. I had to pull off the shoulder rig and the Dan Wesson and leave them in the car. No jacket. The old guy in the hunting cap was still sitting in the hard chair and the old retriever was still lying on his piece of cardboard. The retriever wagged his tail when he saw me.

I told Karen that something had gone wrong and that she should pick up Toby from school and go home. She wanted to know what. I told her that I was at the Texaco station and would tell her when she got home. I said, "Are the printouts of the DeLuca transactions at your house or at the bank?"

"The bank."

"Bring them."

At ten minutes of four we parked in Karen Lloyd's drive and went into the house. Karen was in the living room, looking nervous, and Toby was with her. Peter was sort of slack-jawed and distant and walked as if his knees were stiff. They stared at him. Karen said, "What's wrong?"

"Plans have changed."

Peter said, "They killed Dani."

"What?"

Peter went to the couch and Joe Pike went past them down the hall to Karen's study.

I said, "You guys are going to have to go away for tonight. Maybe a couple of nights. Throw whatever you need into a bag."

Karen started to ask another question, then looked at Toby. "Tobe. Do what he says. Go pack an overnighter."

Toby took a couple of steps back along the hall, then stopped.

Joe Pike came back with his duffel bag and took out a 12-gauge Winchester autoloader and a box of Remington Long Range Express shotgun sh.e.l.ls. Number 4 buck. The autoloader had an illegal 14-inch barrel and a pistol grip in place of a stock. When Karen saw the shotgun, she said, "Oh my G.o.d. What is happening here?"

Pike took a Browning .32 automatic in an ankle holster out of the bag and showed it to me. "You want the backup?"

"Yes."

He handed it to me and I put it on. I made sure the safety was off.

"Tell me what happened!"

I told her. I told her that at about the time Pike and I had been in her office, explaining what we had found out and what we were going to do with it, Peter and Dani had gone to see DeLuca and that now Dani was lying beneath an on-ramp to the Manhattan Bridge in Brooklyn. When I said the part about Dani, Karen's face went gray and she said, "You stupid sonofab.i.t.c.h."

Peter looked at the floor.

I pulled my pants leg down to cover the Browning and Karen said, "What are we going to do?"

"It's not just Charlie anymore, but there's still maybe a way to do this without the cops. Before, we had it contained and we could have worked it so that we were dealing only with Charlie, but now that's different. We shot two DeLuca soldiers. One of them is dead and the other might be. Charlie's going to have to explain where the dead guys are and how they got dead."

"So what will he do?"

"He'll hit us. He'd rather lose the laundering setup than risk the other capos capos or the Gambozas finding out what he's been doing." or the Gambozas finding out what he's been doing."

Karen said, "Maybe we can talk to him. Maybe we should call him."

"It's past that."

"What can we do?"

Pike said, "Sal."

Karen looked at Pike, then me.

I nodded. "Sal's our only way out. Charlie's thinking he's got to end it. He's got to get all of us before we send up the flare. So we go to Sal and we lay it out for him just like we were going to lay it out for Charlie. Sal won't want the Gambozas or the other families to find out what Charlie has been doing any more than Charlie."

Karen nodded, maybe looking hopeful. Toby had worked his way back to the living room and she had her arm around him. He was staring at Peter.

"Did you bring the account records?"

She got them out of her purse in the dining room and gave them to me.

I said, "Joe will stay with you. Does Charlie know about May Erdich's place?"

Karen shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Go there. If they come here looking for you tonight and don't find you, they might get the idea to look around. They'll check the Ho Jo, so don't go there. Get a room with May Erdich. If it goes okay, I'll come to May's when it's done."

"All right."

Maybe Peter could feel the weight of Toby's eyes. He looked up and he said, "I got her killed. I'd make it better if I could, but this is what I've done."

Toby turned and ran down the hall.

Peter Alan Nelsen, the King of Adventure, put his face in his hands and sobbed like a baby.

I borrowed Pike's coat and pulled it on. It was a little big, but it fit well enough. I folded the account records and put them in the right outside pocket.

Karen said, "Peter."

Peter's shoulders shook and what you could see of his face looked red and splotched.

Karen said, "G.o.dd.a.m.nit, Peter, we don't need to listen to this."

Peter cried harder.

Karen crossed her arms and looked out the window, and then she walked over to Peter Alan Nelsen and put her hand on his back. Peter gulped air and made a deep, racking sob and hugged her around the hips and cried into her skirt. Karen Lloyd stared at the ceiling and patted his back.

I walked out of the house and climbed into the Taurus and drove hard through the falling darkness all the way down to Manhattan and Sal DeLuca's.