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38

'That's our man,' Win said. 'Mr Junior Horton.'

Horty looked like an ex-football player. Big and wide, all veins and bulges. His arms looked like corded wood. He was dressed for a rap video.

His button-down St Louis Cardinals baseball shirt was untucked. His baggy shorts reached down past his knees. No socks. Black Reebok high-tops. A Chicago White Sox baseball cap. Dark sunglasses and lots of jewelry.

It was nine in the morning. One Hundred Thirty-second Street in Manhattan. The street was quiet. Horty was making a drug deal. He had been in and out of jail plenty of times, his one long stint of freedom during his time at Reston U. Drugs, mostly. Armed robbery, once. Two sexual assault charges. Twenty-four years old and a complete punk. Like most inmates he had spent his prison time lifting weights. Pumping iron. Our penal institutions develop violent men's physical strength, so when they get out, they'll be able to intimidate and maim with far greater skill. Nice system.

Jessica was not with them. She was packing her father's office - that is, the morgue - and checking for any additional bombshells. Myron had managed to talk her out of confronting Paul Duncan until they knew a little more. She listened grudgingly, but that was how Jessica usually listened anyway.

Horty finished the transaction with a kid who looked no older than twelve, slapped him five, headed west. He wasn't wearing a Walkman, but he walked as though he were. Very jittery. His eyes were red. Every few steps he would snort the air and wipe his nose with the back of his hand.

'Boys and girls, can you say "Cokehead"?'

'Probably has the flu,' Win said.

'The Colombian strain.'

They ducked out of sight as he approached. When Horty reached the lip of the alley, Myron stepped in front of him.

'Junior Horton?'

Horty gave him a scornful street glare. 'Who the fuck wants to know?'

'Snappy comeback,' Myron said.

'Get the fuck out of my way or I kick your ass.' He spotted Win. 'Both your ass.'

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'Asses,' Win corrected. 'One ass. Two asses. Plural.'

'What the fuck-'

'We want to talk to you,' Myron said.

'Hey, fuck you, man.'

Myron turned to Win. 'He's a real badass.'

'Indeed,' Win said. 'I may wet myself.'

Horty stepped toward Win. He had at least six inches and sixty pounds on him. Horty probably thought he was being clever, going after and intimidating the little guy. Myron tried not to smile when Horty spat, 'Gonna fuck you up big-time.'

'If you curse again,' Win said in the tone of pre-school teacher, 'I will be forced to silence you.'

'You?' Horty laughed heartily. He flexed for a moment and then lowered his nose until it almost touched Win's. Win did not move. 'Little piece of upper-crust whitebread gonna shut me up? Fuck-'

Win barely moved. His arm shot up, delivered a palm strike to the solar plexus, and was back at his side in what seemed like a tenth of a second. Horty stumbled back, gasping, unable to get any oxygen into his lungs.

'I asked you not to curse,' Win said.

It took Horty nearly half a minute to recover. When he did, the lips started flapping again. 'Fucking cheapshot motherfucker,' he said rising. 'I gonna tear you a brand-new asshole.'

He charged Win, his arms outstretched as though tackling a fullback.

Win sidestepped him and delivered a quick roundhouse kick, again hitting the solar plexus. Horty folded and went down. His face was a mixture of fury, pain, surprise, and of course, embarrassment. He looked around to make sure nobody was watching. He was, after all, getting his butt whipped by Mr Wonderbread.

'There are two hundred and six bones in the body,' Win said evenly.

'Next time I break one.'

But Horty wasn't listening. His eyes bulged. Rage twisted his face - not to mention his limited ability to reason. Horty stood, stumbling, pretending he was more hurt than he was. The element of surprise. When Horty was close enough, he made his move.

He must have been really coked up, Myron mused. Or really stupid.

Probably both.

Win leaned away and snapped a sidekick toward Horty's lower leg. There was a cracking sound, like stepping on a dry twig. Horty screamed and went down. Win raised his leg for an ax kick, but Myron stopped him with a shake of his head.

'Two hundred five,' Win said, lowering his foot gently, 'and counting.'

You broke my f-' He stopped, holding his leg and rolling back and forth. 'You broke my leg!'

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'Your right tibia,' Win corrected.

'Who the - who are you?'

Myron said, 'We're going to ask you a few questions. You're going to answer them.'

'My leg, man. I need a doctor.'

'When we're finished.'

'Look, I just work for Terrell. He gave me this territory. You gotta - a problem with that, you speak to him, okay?'

'We don't want to talk to you about that.'

'Please, man, I'm begging you. My leg.'

'You used to attend Reston University.'

A surprised look replaced the pained one. 'Yeah, so? You want my resume?'

'You knew Kathy Culver.'

Panic now. 'You guys cops?'

'No.'

Silence.

'You knew Kathy Culver.'

'Kathy who?'

Win said, 'Number two-oh-five. The left femur. The femur is the largest bone in the body-'

'Okay, I knew her. So what?'

'How did you meet?' Myron asked.

'At a party. Her first week of school.'

'Did you ever date?'

'Date?' Horty laughed at that one. 'No. She wasn't the kind you date.'

'What kind was she?'

'The kind who sucked off my Johnson first night. Willie's too.'

'Who is Willie?'

'My roomie.'

'He play football?'

'Yeah.' Then he added, 'But only special teams,' as if that made him a lower species of being.

'Go on.'

'Man, why you want to hear this?'

'Go on.'

Horty shrugged. The leg was swelling badly, but the coke was numbing the pain enough to keep him going. 'You see, we had this party. At Moore House. Where all the brothers lived. Kathy, she was like the only white chick there. So she comes in dressed like a prime-time ho. I mean, she was all that, you know? We start rapping and shit, you know. Did a little nose-candy like a Hoover vac. She liked the stuff. Then we start slow-dancing.' The grin returned with the memory. 'Grinding, you know. She put her hand on the Black Blade right there on the dance floor. Starts rubbing it and shit. So I