But then Little Tommie had gotten the call that the holdouts had finally been dealt with, and that Turco Demolition and Excavation had the green light to reduce the remaining properties to rubble.

That call had come in two days earlier, after office hours on Friday afternoon, and it had been from some fellow who announced to Little Tommie that he'd been "tasked at HUD as the new expediter for PEGI projects."

"He said we're all good to go," Little Tommie had told Bobby the Ballbuster after he'd hung up the phone. They were sitting in Turco's office cutting the dust of the day with a couple glasses of Scotch whisky. "But I just turned that damn crane back in to the rental shop!"

Turco had then had to call and reserve another crane, a slightly smaller one that at least was cheaper than the one he'd just turned in. But he wasn't overjoyed with the news that the earliest it could be available was Sunday noon.

"I hate working Sundays," he'd said when he'd slammed down the receiver. Now, from his seat in the cab of the rental crane, Bobby the Ballbuster could see a few of the protest signs the holdouts had carried. One that he could clearly see read: "Eminent Domain = Theft by Gov't!" Another said "5th Amendment Yes!" and had the international symbol for "no"-a red circle with a red backslash-across the words "Philly HUD" and "PEGI."

The signs were in the dirt beside the first two-story row house he was about to tear down using a four-thousand-pound forged-steel wrecking ball.

The pear-shaped ball was on a rusty hook at the end of the thick, heavy steel cable that hung from the tip of the crane's sixty-foot-high boom. A secondary steel line attached to the top of the wrecking ball ran laterally to a drum right beneath the cab. The drum had a clutch that, when released, would allow the drum to turn freely-and the two-ton ball to swing like a pendulum. After the ball struck the building, the drum would reel it back so it could be released again to knock another hole in the structure.

And so on, until nothing remained but rubble.

Now aimed at the brick siding of the faded-red row house, the ball was positioned ten feet above the ground and directly in front of the cab's windshield. Bucco could almost reach out and touch it.

Instead, he put his hand on the lever that worked the clutch on the lateral drum.

"What're you waiting for?" Little Tommie said as he removed the cigar from his mouth and spat out a piece of tobacco leaf.

Bobby the Ballbuster threw the lever, and there came an ear-piercing metallic screech as the drum spun and the wire cable unspooled. The two tons of forged-steel wrecking ball swung toward the row house. The ball struck more or less on target-and sailed right on through the brick siding. The impact caused the ground to shake.

Bucco then threw the lever to engage the lateral line drum's clutch. The crane's huge diesel engine roared. There came another screech as the wire cable wound back on the drum. The pear-shaped ball appeared in the pear-shaped hole it had made, then slowly returned to its position in front of Bucco.

"Go again!" Turco said impatiently.

Bucco threw the lever. The drum screeched and the ball swung, and the row house shook on impact.

This time, though, the kinetic energy punched a hole in the wall that was three times the size of the ball itself. Wood splinters flew. Turco dodged one of the small pieces that managed to fly all the way to the crane.

The crane's diesel engine roared again as Bucco retracted the ball.

As it came out, they suddenly saw a small tan mongrel dog peering out of the big hole on the second floor. It had no collar. It looked around nervously, then jumped down to the ground, tumbling when it hit. The dog got to its feet, shook its head, and ran off as if it were on fire.

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" Bucco said. "I thought these houses were finally cleared!"

"Looked like a damn stray," Turco said reasonably. "And now the mutt's gone."

Bucco looked at him and said, "I don't know, Tommie. I'm getting a bad vibe. Maybe I'd better go and double-check."

Turco looked at his watch, then said, "It was just a fucking mutt. Just swing it again. We can knock these shit-for-houses down in a couple hours, and I can return this crane by five and only pay for a half-day rental. Then we can get the hell off this job and on to the next one."

Bucco looked at him a long moment, then at the big hole in the wall, then back at Turco. He shrugged and said, "Awww, all right, you're the boss."

The next swing of the two-ton ball took out almost all the rest of the upstairs exterior wall, which caused the roof to partially collapse.

And again Bobby the Ballbuster threw the lever that caused the drum to begin reeling in the lateral line.

This time, though, there was something stuck on the ball. Bucco and Turco knew it wasn't unusual for either the ball or the cable to snag something-anything from electrical wiring to abandoned furniture-and carry it outside.

But as the ball exited the massive hole in the second-floor wall, it was clear that this wasn't any building material.

As the ball was reeled closer to the cab, they had a stomach-turning view of what had gotten snagged.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Bucco said as he stared through the cab windshield at the wrecking ball-and at the limp body of one of the male holdouts, his jacket caught on the rusty hook that held the ball.

His lifeless eyes stared back at Bucco.

Bobby the Ballbuster struck Little Tommie with the cab door as he flung it open. Bucco's vomit splashed all over Turco's steel-toed work boots. [FOUR] Executive Command Center The Roundhouse Eighth and Race Streets, Philadelphia Sunday, November 1, 1:54 P.M. "Thank you, Commissioner Walker," Sergeant Matt Payne said into the receiver of one of three multiline telephones on the conference table in front of him. He looked at Detective Tony Harris, seated next to him, and rolled his eyes as he added, "I'm really grateful for your having pushed the processing of those prints."

He looked past Harris and saw that not only had Corporal Kerry Rapier caught the unflattering gesture, he was grinning at it.

He's not one of his starchy boss's biggest fans either.

Payne looked at the "desk sign" on the conference table between him and Harris. As sort of an inside joke, Payne had fashioned it out of a sheet of legal-pad paper he'd folded lengthwise twice to make an inverted V. Handprinted on it was TASK FORCE OPERATION CLEAN SWEEP.

The sign reminded Payne that Deputy Police Commissioner Howard Walker had been among the first to flee the ECC after Mayor Carlucci had stormed out, still fuming over Kendrik Mays's mother bringing in his bloody body for a ten-thousand-dollar reward.

Police Commissioner Ralph Mariana had then told Payne: "What Jerry announced about you having the full support of the department wasn't just thrown out there for the benefit of appeasing the public." He'd paused and smiled. "I think, though, that the part about calling in the FBI and others for help was. Jerry's never been a fan of the feds coming in and telling us how it's supposed to be done. I know I'm not."

Mariana had looked from First Deputy Police Commissioner Denny Coughlin to Deputy Police Commissioner Howard Walker to Captain Henry Quaire to Lieutenant Jason Washington. All were standing in a loose group near the doorway, and all nodded their agreement.