He got out of his car and took the sidewalk back to Connecticut. He walked to an apartment house on the corner, stood at the gla.s.s doors, waved to the woman at the desk, and was buzzed in.

After work, he'd met Thomas Wilson at his place. Thomas had told him the plan. It was a very simple plan and as good as any plan, he supposed. If he kept his nerve, and Thomas kept his nerve, it could work.

He took the elevator up to the sixth floor and walked down a carpeted hall. He knocked on a door and he heard m.u.f.fled steps.

Stephanie Maroulis opened the door.

"Dimitri."

"It is me. Why so surprised?"

"It's not Tuesday," she said.

"I know it," said Karras.

They looked into each other's eyes.

"You're breaking our arrangement," she said. "You do this and everything changes."

"I'm ready for it to change," he said.

Stephanie stepped aside. He walked through the open door.

THIRTY-SEVEN.

THIS WILL BE the last day of my life. the last day of my life.

It was the first thought that came to Thomas Wilson when he woke on Friday morning. He turned onto his side in the bed and shut his eyes. His stomach flipped, and he thought he could be sick.

Please don't let me be a coward, G.o.d. Please.

The phone rang, and Wilson reached across the bed and picked it up.

"Thomas, it's Nick Stefanos."

"Nick."

"I was with Dimitri on Wednesday night. I know you told him everything. I know what you guys are planning to do."

Wilson had promised Dimitri that from here on in he'd keep his mouth shut. He did want Stefanos's help. He welcomed it. But he wouldn't betray Dimitri, not again.

"There is no plan," said Wilson.

"Bulls.h.i.t," said Stefanos. "You guys have got something happening and you think you can pull it off yourselves. I told Dimitri and I'm telling you: You try this thing and you will die. You understand me, Thomas?"

"I gotta run," said Wilson. "My uncle's waitin' on me, man, and I got to get myself into work."

"You still have my card?"

"I got it."

"You call me, Thomas. You give me a call, hear?"

"I hear you, Nick."

"Thomas -"

Wilson killed the connection and sat up on the edge of his bed. He stood and dressed for work.

Friday's lunch, like every Friday lunch, was the most hectic two hours of the week at the Spot. Dimitri Karras, Maria Juarez, and James Posten had little time for idle conversation as they struggled to stay ahead of the orders flowing into the kitchen. Nick Stefanos and Anna w.a.n.g were in the weeds in the dining and bar area from noon to two. Ramon and Darnell had both broken full body sweat by the time the rush was through.

At two o'clock, Maria put her t.i.to Puente tape into the box. James grabbed his spatula, and he and Maria began to dance. Karras walked over to Darnell, who was wiping down his slick arms with a rag, his backside against the sink.

"How'd that catfish go today?" said Darnell.

"Went good, buddy. Looked good, too. In fact, I called eighty-six on it to Anna even though we had one order left. That one's for me."

"You earned it, Dimitri. Nice work today."

"Thanks." Karras drew a card from his wallet. "Here you go, man. This is the number for that friend I been telling you about. Marcus wants to hook up with you, show you how easy it can be to do this thing, if that's what you want to do. Got all sorts of options he wants to lay out for you, Darnell. Says he'd like to meet with you next week."

"That's cool. But I thought you were gonna come with me."

"Yeah, sure," said Karras, smiling sadly at Darnell. "If you still want me to."

"d.a.m.n right I want you to, Dimitri."

"Then I'll be there," said Karras, and he shook Darnell's hand.

Karras hugged Maria and James and thanked them for the good job they had done that day. He untied his ap.r.o.n, dropped it in the laundry hamper by the door, and left without another word. He sat at a deuce and ate the catfish special, avoiding conversation with Stefanos, and when he was done he told Anna and Ramon to have a good weekend, said good bye to Stefanos, and left the bar.

Stefanos caught up with him out on 8th.

"Dimitri!"

Karras turned. Stefanos walked to him in his shirtsleeves and met him by the alley. He put a hand on Karras's arm.

"Where you off to, man?" said Stefanos.

Karras shrugged. "Goin' home."

"Don't just walk out of here without telling me, Dimitri."

"Telling you what?"

"When and where. I've got a right to know."

Karras looked around the street. He waited for a man to pa.s.s them on the sidewalk. When the man was out of earshot, Karras found Stefanos's eyes.

"Listen," said Karras. "I appreciate everything you've done for me, Nick. You hooking me up with this job, it put me back in the world. I'm almost at that place where I can see myself having some kind of normal life. But there's one thing left to do, and you can't be a part of that. You're out of it, Nick. It's not your affair. So forget it."

"I won't forget it," said Stefanos. "When is it going down?"

Karras looked down at the cracked concrete. "Tomorrow night."

"Look at me, man."

"It's set for tomorrow night."

"Where?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"You'll call me?"

"Okay, Nick." Karras nodded. "If that's what you want. Yes."

Karras and Stefanos shook hands. Stefanos b.u.t.toned his shirt to the neck and watched Karras walk to his faded navy blue BMW, parked along the curb.

"Liar," said Stefanos, who had seen the hesitation in Karras's eyes.

It wasn't going down tomorrow night. It was going down tonight.

Thomas Wilson worked the day quietly with his uncle Lindo. He listened to Lindo talk about a woman he'd met at church and he listened to Lindo's Frankie Lymon tapes on the cheap ca.s.sette player in the dash of his s.h.i.tbox truck. He listened and tried to answer when Lindo asked him questions, but other than those short responses he didn't say much.

Time crawled that day, but when quitting time came it seemed to have come too quick.

Wilson had gotten out of his coveralls in the warehouse bathroom and he went to the particle-board desk where his uncle sat, wearing spectacles and organizing the day's tickets. His uncle had swept the warehouse like he did at the end of every week, whether it needed it or not, and specks of dust swirled in the air. A dying fluorescent tube flickered in the drop ceiling above the desk, its light flashing on the warehouse floor.

"I can fix that for you before I go," said Wilson, looking up at the light.

"Got a box of replacement lamps coming in next week," said Lindo. He looked closely at his nephew. "You seem troubled today, Thomas. Somethin' you want to talk to me about?"

"No, sir." Wilson buried his hands in the pockets of his slacks. "Everything's fine."

"Go on, then, son. Have a good weekend. Rest up, 'cause come Monday we have a busy week."

"Okay, Uncle L. Thank you for everything, hear?"

Lindo glanced up at Wilson. "Go on, boy. Don't be so serious all the time. Go out and have yourself a little fun."

As he drove home, Wilson's guilt deepened over using his uncle's warehouse that night. His uncle took pride in that place, even if it wasn't much more than a cheap desk and some cinder-block walls. Wilson stopped in a surplus store in Lanham and bought a half dozen blue plastic tarps.

He pa.s.sed the turnoff for his house and kept north on Georgia Avenue, turned left onto Quackenbos, made another left, and parked the Intrepid in an alley alongside a church. He stepped onto the grounds of Fort Stevens Park.

He and Charles had played here as children. He walked into a dry moat, then climbed a steep hill and jumped down alongside one of two cannons that remained in the park. A tattered American flag hung at half-mast nearby and made rippling shadows at his feet. He could picture Charles as a child, running with an imaginary rifle cradled in his arms, diving and rolling down those hills. He could hear Charlie's gleeful laugh.

Charles, thought Wilson, thought Wilson, I won't let you down. I won't let you down.

But a block from his house his stomach betrayed him, and Wilson pulled over to the side of the road, where he opened his car door and vomited his lunch onto the street.

Dimitri Karras got up off the bed at around six o'clock. He had been lying there on his back for a couple of hours. He was oddly calm.

He found Bernie Walters's Colt .45 and a box of sh.e.l.ls in the bottom of his dresser, wrapped in an old pillowcase. He ejected the magazine into his palm. He loaded seven rounds into the magazine, testing the tension of the spring on the last round. He pushed the magazine into the b.u.t.t of the gun and slipped the .45 into its leather holster. He dropped the rig onto the bed and phoned Thomas Wilson.

They discussed the specifics of the plan. When they were done, Karras said, "Pick me up at eight."

Wilson said, "Right."

Nick Stefanos phoned Dan Boyle at William Jonas's house and got Jonas first. He exchanged a few words with Jonas and asked to speak to Boyle.

"You going to be there all night?" asked Stefanos.

"Yeah," said Boyle. "Why, what's up?"

"I might need to speak with you."

"Something going on?"

"Sit tight," said Stefanos. "I'll let you know."

Thomas Wilson sat at a small desk in the foyer of his house on Underwood. He broke the cylinder of his five-shot .38 Special and thumbed sh.e.l.ls into its chambers. He spun the cylinder and wrist-snapped it shut. The snub-nosed revolver with the narrow checkered b.u.t.t and the worn-down bluing felt small in his hand. He held the gun under the desk lamp and noticed that his hand was shaking. He concentrated and tried to make his hand stop shaking, but he could not.

He laid the gun down on the desk and pulled the phone toward him. He dialed Dimitri Karras.

"I don't know if I can do this," he said when Karras answered the call.

"You can," said Karras. "See you at eight."

Wilson listened to the dial tone. He dialed Bernie Walters's home number. Bernie's recorded voice came through the speaker and then there was a long beeping sound.

"Hey, Bern... Thomas here. I guess you got a couple more days of that Jeremiah Johnson thing you're doin' down there in G.o.d's country. I'm just callin' to say h.e.l.lo again. Was thinkin' maybe I'd drive down tomorrow morning and surprise you. Take you up on that offer you been makin' to me these last couple of years. Be a good chance for the two of us to talk, buddy. 'Cause we need need to talk, see? Anyway... listen, if I don't happen to make it down there, man... I just wanted to tell you... I wanted to say that you been a good friend. I'm sorry for everything, but I'm fixin' to try and make it right. You been a good friend, Bern. You, uh..." to talk, see? Anyway... listen, if I don't happen to make it down there, man... I just wanted to tell you... I wanted to say that you been a good friend. I'm sorry for everything, but I'm fixin' to try and make it right. You been a good friend, Bern. You, uh..."

Wilson found himself stumbling on his words. He said good bye to Bernie and cut the line.

"You all packed?" said Farrow.

"Ready," said Otis.

"I got a meet point from Wilson. Says we'd get lost if we tried to find it directly. Behind a closed gas station near the industrial park."

Otis nodded. "Here you go, Frank. This is you."