"So does Mickey. Hey, where you going?"

"Lynwood."

"Hot date?"

"Yeah, with a pretty-boy strongarm cop."

"I'll tell Touch--he'll be jealous."

Adrenaline-rain peaked it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Lynwood--wind, rain--streets running crisscross and diagonal. Dark--hard to see; Aviation and Hibiscus--that pay phone on the corner.

Tombstone laughs--Jack's call reprised: "He kicked natural or got snuffed by somebody else? Come on, let me redeem myself. Say Welles Noonan for that same ten?"

Stucco pads--quasi slums; empty bungalow courts. Spindrift--the 4900 block--I skimmed numbers.

24, 38, 74. 4980: a two-deck stucco dive, abandoned.

One light on-downstairs left, the door open.

I walked up.

An empty living room--cobwebs, dusty floor--Schoolboy Johnny standing there calm.

No jacket, empty holster--trust me.

Trust s.h.i.t--watch his hands.

"Are you grieving for Junior, Johnny?"

"What do you know about Stemmons and me?"

"I know he made you for the fur heist. I know that other stuff doesn't count."

"Other stuff" made him blink. Ten feet apart--watch his hands.

"He had evidence on you, too. He felt terrible things for certain people, and he collected evidence on them to even things out."

"We can work out a deal. I don't care about the fur job."

"You don't know the half"--eye flickers craaaazy.

Footsteps behind me.

My hands pinned/my mouth cupped--smothered/my sleeves rolled up/stabbed.

Walking air--tunnel vision--peripheral gra.s.s. Tingles/flutters up my groin/toasty warm.

Side doorways, shoes, trouser legs flapping.

Elbow dipped, shoes on concrete, right turn-- A door opened--warm air, light. Mirrored walls, herringbone patterns up close. Somebody stretched me p.r.o.ne.

Light overhead--snowflake blurry.

_Whir, click/click_--cylinder noise, like a camera. Sliding on my knees-- white wax paper under me.

Propped up.

Tape strips on my eyes--slapped sticky blind.

Somebody hit me.

Somebody poked me.

Somebody burned me-hot/cold sizzles on my neck.

Not so tingly/toasty warm--no flutters up my groin.

Somebody pulled the tape off--sticky red blood in my eyes.

Cylinder _click-clicks_.

Propped up on white wax paper. Something in my right hand, heavy and shiny: MY souvenir j.a.p sword.

Shoved, focused in: Johnny Duhamel naked, holding MY gun.

Burned: hot/cold--my neck, my hands.

Burned raw--Johnny kneeling, gla.s.sy eyes, taunting me.

Burned--steam in my face-Johnny taunting me-blue slant eyes.

Get him, cut him--wild swings, misses.

Johnny weaving--grip down, swing two-handed.

Miss, hit, miss--pale skin ripped, tattoos gouting blood. Hit, rip, rip--an arm gone, socket spray. Johnny jabbering j.a.p singsong, blue slant eyes-- Miss, miss--j.a.p Johnny p.r.o.ne, twitching crazy. Sight in--this chest tattoo--split it, split him-- Miss, miss--wax paper shredding.

Hit, jerk down--spine snaps/blade drag/pull--red EVERYWHERE.

Gasping--hard to breathe-blood in my mouth.

Somebody stabbed me--I went tingly/toasty warm/flutters up my groin.

Fading out: flamethrower burns toasty nice, j.a.p surrender.

Floating toasty black. _Tick tick_ somewhere--a clock--I counted seconds. Six thousand-drifting off--ten thou four hundred.

j.a.p zeros gliding, voices: Meg: Pops never touched me--David, don't hurt him. The peeper: Daddy, Daddy. Lucille: He's _my_ Daddy.

j.a.p zeros strafing Darktown. _Tick tick_--fourteen thousand odd.

Toasty black.

Blurry: gray herringbones, shoes.

Wall mirrors topsy-turvy; j.a.p zeros. I tried to wave--stupid--tapeddown arms wouldn't let me.

A chair--taped in snug.

Projector clicks.

White light, a white screen.

Movie time--Pops and Meg?--don't let him grope her.

I thrashed--futile-sticky tape, no give.

A white screen.

Cut to: Johnny Duhamel naked.

Cut to: Dave Klein swinging a sword.

Zooming in--the sword grip: SSGT D.D. Klein USMC Saipan 7/24/43.

Cut to: Johnny begging--"Please"--mute sound.

Cut to: Dave Klein thrashing--stabbing, missing.

Cut to: A severed arm twitching on wax paper.

Cut to: Dave Klein, gutting motions--Johnny D. coughing entrails.

Cut to: Lens gla.s.s dripping red; a finger flicking spine chips off the surface.

I screamed-- A needle stab cut me off mute.

Fading in--moving--night--windshield blur.

n.i.g.g.e.rtown--South Central.

Chest pains, neck pains. Beard stubble, no holster.

Swerving.

Sirens _whoop whoop_.

Burn aches.

Disinfectant stink--somebody washed me.

Where/what/who--Johnny Duhamel begging.

No.

Not for real.

THEY made me do it.

Please--I didn't like it.

Sirens, flames up ahead.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Fire trucks, prowl cars. Beard stubble--say a day's worth. Smoke, fire--Bido Lito 's flaming skyward.

A roadblock--swing right-- I jumped the curb. Gray suit camera men right there--monsters.