'There's a barn and a house there.'

'Yeah. Coleman says the Boones like to do business in the barn. They got a full bar in there; it's set up like one of those old-time casinos or some shit like that.'

'Sondra stays in the house?'

'Far as I know.'

Quinn holstered the Glock in the waistband of his jeans. 'Tomorrow night, you keep them all in the barn, hear? Give me and Strange the chance to get Sondra Wilson out of that house.'

'What am I gonna do when Delgado starts all that killin'?'

'I don't care what you do. It makes no difference to me.' Quinn picked up the legal pad off the coffee table and slipped his pen into the breast pocket of his shirt. 'Whatever you decide to do tomorrow night, I want you to know it won't change what I'm going to do with this.'

'I didn't think it would.'

'So long, Gene.'

Quinn walked away. The door clicked closed behind him.

Strange was sleeping on the couch when the doorbell buzzed. Greco's barking woke him up. Strange opened the front door after checking the peephole. Quinn stood on the porch, his breath visible in the night.

'I got it,' said Quinn, holding up Franklin's confession for Strange to see.

'Fill me in on what I don't know,' said Strange.

Quinn told him everything, standing there.

When Quinn was done, Strange said, 'Tomorrow night, then.'

And Quinn said, 'Right.'

31

Strange hit the intercom-system buzzer on his desk and spoke into its mic: 'Janine?'

'Yes, Derek,' came the crackly reply.

'Come on in here a minute, will you?'

Strange leaned over, picked up a package, a padded, legal-sized envelope, off the floor, and placed it on his desk. In the package, addressed to Lydell Blue at the Fourth District Station, was the full evidence file Strange had collected on the Wilson case.

Strange had come in early that morning, made Xerox copies of the evidence, and dropped the duplicate package in the mail, addressed to himself. Next he'd called his attorney and confirmed that his will was up to date. He had filled his attorney in on the whereabouts of his modest life insurance policy, for which he had named Janine and Lionel joint beneficiaries.

Janine Baker came into the room.

'Hi,' said Strange.

'Hi.'

'I'm gonna be gone for the rest of the day, maybe a little bit into tomorrow.'

'Okay,' said Janine.

'You need me, you can get me on my beeper.'

'Just like always. Nothing unusual about that.'

'That's right. Nothin' unusual at all.' Strange rubbed an itch on his nose. 'How's Lionel doin'?'

'He's doing well.'

'Listenin' to you, gettin' all his homework done, all that?'

'He's got his moments. But he's fine.'

'All right then.' Strange leaned forward and tapped the padded envelope on his desk. 'You don't hear any different from me, say by noon tomorrow, I want you to take this package here and drop it in the mailbox, understand?'

'Sure.'

'Keep it in the safe until then. There's another package like it, will be coming here, in the mail, a couple days from now. When it arrives, I want you to put that one in the safe.'

'Okay.'

'You got the billing done for Leona Wilson?'

'Soon as you tell me you've concluded the case, it'll be done.'

'It's done. Bill her for eight more hours, and don't forget to add in all those receipts I collected in the way of expenses, too.'

'I'll do it.'

'Good. I guess we're all set.' Strange got up from his chair, took his leather off the coat tree, and shook himself into the jacket. He walked up close to Janine and glanced at the open office door. 'Ron out there?'

'He's off on an insurance fraud thing.'

Strange slipped his arms around Janine's waist and pulled her to him. He kissed her on the lips, and held the kiss. She looked up into his eyes.

'First time you ever did that in here, Derek.'

'I'm not all that good at putting things I got in my head into words,' said Strange. 'Listen, I'm tryin' to say-'

'You did say it, Derek.'

Still in his arms, Janine wiped her thumb across his mouth, clearing the lipstick she had left there.

'I need to be gettin' out of here.'

'It's early yet.'

'I know it. But I wanted to spend the day with my mom.'

Janine watched him walk away, through the outer office and out the front door. She picked up the package off his desk and headed for the safe.

Quinn put in an early shift at the bookstore, then came back to his apartment, worked out in the basement, showered, and dressed in thermal underwear, a flannel shirt, Levi's jeans, and hiking boots. He microwaved a frozen dinner, ate it, made a pot of coffee, and drank the first of three cups. He put London Calling on the stereo. He listened to 'Death or Glory' while he sat on the edge of his bed. He put on Born to Run and turned 'Backstreets' up loud. He paced his bedroom and found his gun and belt in the bottom drawer of his dresser.

Quinn stood in front of his full-length mirror. He wrapped his gun belt around his waist and buckled it in front, the holster riding low and tight on the right side of his hip. He had taken the Mace holder, bullet dump, pen holder, and key chain off the belt, leaving only his set of handcuffs, in their case and positioned at the small of his back. He holstered the Glock, cleared it from its holster, holstered it and cleared it again.

Quinn released the magazine and checked the load. He picked up the Glock, closed one eye, sighted down the barrel to the white dot on the blade, and dry-fired at the wall. The black polymer grip was secure in his palm. He slapped the magazine back into the butt of the gun and slid the Glock down into its holster.

The phone rang, and Quinn picked it up.

'Hello.' Quinn could hear symphonic music on the other end of the line.

'Derek here. I'm ready to go.'

'I'm ready, too,' said Quinn. 'Come on by.'

Strange hung up the phone. He was sitting at his desk at home, the Morricone soundtrack to Once Upon a Time in the West filling the room. The main title theme was playing, and Strange briefly closed his eyes. This was the most beautiful piece of music he owned, and he wanted nothing more than to sit here and listen to it, into the night. But the sky had darkened outside his rain-streaked window, and Strange knew that it was time to go.

Adonis Delgado's black Maxima cruised north on 270, its segmented wipers clearing the windshield of the rain that had lightly begun to fall. The rush hour traffic had thinned out an hour earlier, and the road ahead was clear.

'They like to do their business in the barn,' said Delgado, sitting low under the wheel. Delgado wore a black nylon jogging suit, his arms filling the sleeves, with a gold rope chain around his horse-thick neck.

'I know it,' said Eugene Franklin, beside him in the passenger bucket.

'Back when the Colombians were still breathin', they used to laugh about it with Coleman, tell 'em how it went down. We call 'em after we get off Two-seventy, and they meet us in the parking lot of a strip mall. They drive us back-'

'I know all this.'

'They drive us back, Eugene. They like to pour a few cocktails out in the barn before the business gets transacted.'

'I don't drink.'

'Have one or two to be polite, but don't go gettin' drunk. What I'm gonna do is, I'm gonna excuse myself, pay a visit to that little junkie. I'll take care of her, then come back to the barn.'

'You think that's a good idea?'

'Fuck you mean by that?'

'Maybe you better take care of the girl after. I mean, the sound of a gunshot in that house is gonna travel back to the barn.'