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I ll do. He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket, draws out the .40, centers the
front sight on the Jamaican s heart. With one hand he points at the big man in the
doorway. You stay right there where I can see you. He looks to the skinny man.
You, with your left hand, put that nine on the table. That s right, now step away.
There. Now I ll give you ten seconds to get either my bud or my money back on the
goddam table, muh-fugah.
The thin Jamaican takes a step back as if to go into the back room. No way Night
is letting him out of his sight. Stay right there. You got five seconds.
The Jamaican grabs for the gun and he ll have to kill him. The big man in the
doorway pushes away from the wall with a shrug of his lats, gives him a look that says
he d love to get his hands on him. That much muscle mass he can empty the Glock
into him and still have problems.
Keep those arms crossed. All I want is the dope I paid for. If this is all you got, just
give me my money and I m gone.
In the little guy s eyes, he sees a thought flicker. Could be bad news for both of
them. You think this is your lucky day, skin, I m here to tell you it s not.
Keeping his eyes on Night, he backs to a cigar box on the couch, tosses bags onto
the table. Now get out.
A glance tells Night it s the real thing. THC beads on plastic like dew, buds green,
convoluted scarabs. With his left hand he stuffs them in his jacket, backs to the door.
He has never gone down stairs so fast in his life. On the couch T-Bird man doesn t
even look up as he passes.
In the car he slumps, waiting for his heart to slow. Numbly, he stares out a win-
dow pocked with rain.
He doesn t like breaking laws he s enforced most his life.
It s not as if he has a choice.
" " "
Night walks into Derek s room with his heart in his throat.
When he sees Derek is okay, he shuts his eyes for a moment, letting out a long
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D . W . S T . J O HN
breath. With what he heard on the way over, he wasn t sure he would be.
Derek notices him and switches off the TV. Hey, partner, what you doing here?
Night tosses him a bag, sets a capped cup of coffee on the table.
Bring chocolate-chocolate this time?
Night shakes his head, feigning disgust. You darkies are all the same.
Derek peeks inside, a slow smile widening his mouth. Oh, now you are pre-
cious for a white boy. He picks one, offers Night the bag. Tomorrow I m out of
here.
Worried, Night waves away the doughnuts, drops into a chair.
You don t look too happy to hear it.
Caught the news?
Mouth full, he shakes his head. I have been researching my dissertation on the
decline and fall of western civilization as reflected in the societal mirror of the soap o-
pera. Have you seen what they let them do on TV these days? Disgusting. When
Night doesn t smile, Derek drops it. What?
They found a sixth body in the house.
Derek pushes himself erect, Six? They got one? Good for them. He notices
Night s face, drops the remains of a chocolate-chocolate into the bag, tosses it aside.
Okay, I take it it wasn t good news. So what else they say? You going to tell me or do
I have to guess?
That we walked into a working meth lab. You smell anything cooking?
I didn t smell nothing.
Me, neither. They said it was a shootout with the Devil s Disciples.
Derek s eyes narrow. Bikers?
From south Douglas County, near Canyonville.
They said it was bikers? Derek searches his face for a sign this is a joke, sees
none. Well, they got it wrong, that s all.
Night raises a hand to stop him. You don t have to convince me.
Derek s eyes turn inward. When he speaks, his voice is breathy, almost a whisper.
What s going on, man?
Night feels sick and, for the first time since the farmhouse, scared. I don t know.
They found the van?
Night shrugs. Frame, seat springs, wire from the radials, tranny a puddle of alu-
minum in the sand, that ll be it.
We ve got your prof s car doing a good imitation of Swiss cheese. We ve got a
dead perp. We ve got two trained law enforcement officers as witnesses. We ll tell
them what we saw. They can t ignore both of us.
This starts Night thinking. What he comes up with forms a knot in his gut. You
know, that s another thing. Where are the reporters? This thing is the biggest thing
to happen since that oil tanker ran aground. What was it&
New Carissa.
That s right. Let a kid get suspended from middle school for taking a knife to
class and they re thick as ticks in high grass. Where are they now? Anybody called
you?
Derek shakes his head. You?
Not call one. I m not saying Herrera wouldn t give them the brush off. But these
guys know their way around. They want a guy s number, they can get it. Since when
don t they try for a story?
Derek stares at his feet, not seeing. Okay, so what have we got?
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S ee N ight R un
Night isn t sure he wants to hear it. He does and it will make it real. And this he
doesn t want to be real.
We ve got a van, house out in the middle of nowhere. Now we get a tip from
Compton on a meth lab that doesn t exist. We go out, it looks empty, and we run
into a team of what, five, seven guys?
Night shrugs. Four maybe, no less.
We ve got suppressed HK s with AP 9mm. We ve got a blacked out helicopter.
Derek looks up from ticking off dark fingers. And we ve got a story blaming bikers.
That s about it.
Derek makes a try at a laugh. It s like some bad movie made so cheap they be
shaking their guns around and then dubbing shots on the soundtrack. Who would
go to all that trouble to kill a few cops? It makes no sense.
If only it didn t. I just want you to answer a question for me. Last night went
perfect for them whoever they are except for three things. You tell me what they
are?
Night sees he can, but doesn t want to. Aw, now, come on
Can you?
Derek holds his eyes, speaking slowly. You would be talking about yourself, me,
and the professor, wouldn t you?
For one timeless moment his scalp prickles. He can tell Derek reacts the same way.
All that s missing is the run down the wind chimes. That s right.
Night decides, fishes his compact Glock out of his pocket, slips it under the covers
near Derek s hand.
What s this for?
You.
He raises his hands, looks around. I m in a hospital, I don t need that.
You might.
For what, sex-starved night nurses? He offers the gun back. I met them already
and, trust me, I m safe.
Night ignores the gun, reaches for the remote, surfs until he sees a hospital scene,
tosses it onto Derek s lap. There they are, now.
Really, man, I don t need it.
Night glances at his watch, does some fast figuring. Give me a couple hours to
get something in my stomach and catch a shower and I ll be back.
What are you talking about?
Night sits, leans forward close enough to whisper. What do I look like?
Derek snorts, Want me to tell you?
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