"Wow!" Michael said, pointing at them.

"What the hell?" Will said aloud.

Ahead at the next intersection, Jefferson Street, was a squad car, its every exterior light flashing white or red or blue. It was parked at an angle to force traffic onto Jefferson and away from the other emergency vehicles. A policeman in uniform was beside it directing traffic. He signaled for the FedEx van to keep moving down the street toward him.

"Don't like no cop," Michael said. "LeRoi say cop bad news."

Curtis looked at him.

No surprise there.

And no surprise that generation after generation in the ghetto grows up hating cops-it's all they know, all they're taught.

Then Will realized he hadn't considered what he would do with Michael if they actually caught up with LeRoi.

I can't let him see me take LeRoi out. Michael's done nothing to deserve that.

The only lesson he needs to learn from this is: You do bad, you pay a bad price.

Shit. I'll have to figure that out.

Will Curtis reached over, grabbed the FedEx cap from the dashboard, and put it on the boy's head.

"That'll keep you hidden from the cop, Michael."

Michael considered that, then nodded once.

As they rolled up to the intersection, the traffic cop waved for the van to take the turn. Curtis did so, and avoided making any eye contact.

Michael suddenly yelled: "Don't like no cop, muthafucka!"

"Michael!" Curtis barked.

He checked his mirror and saw the cop look at the van, but only for a second before he turned back to directing traffic.

If the cop heard that, probably wasn't the first time.

At least the kid didn't throw him the bird, too.

Curtis, his heart beating fast, shook his head.

That was close…

He looked over at Michael, who now was pointing down Jefferson to the next intersection, Hancock Street.

"There LeRoi house!" he said, indicating the boarded-up row house on the corner. "Got wood window."

And just beyond the house, Curtis saw someone peer out from around the corner.

He drove on, and as they came to the corner, Curtis saw that there was more than one person. Standing in an alleyway behind the boarded-up row house were three young black men, including a great big one with droopy eyes and a trimmed goatee.

"And there LeRoi!" Michael said excitedly.

Well, I'll be damned.

He's been standing and watching those cops work that scene back there. Just hiding in plain sight.

And the cops don't have any idea that there's a fugitive living just fifty yards away.

But then, how could they? So damned many punks in this city, there's no way to keep track of them all.

Michael suddenly moved quickly, rolling down his window again. He stuck out his head, the hat hitting the top of the car's frame and falling to the floorboard.

"Lookit me, LeRoi!" Michael shouted, pumping his right fist. "I be riding, muthafucka!" LeRoi Cheatham was momentarily caught completely off guard. He did not immediately know how to react to the sight of his twelve-year-old nephew hanging out of a FedEx delivery vehicle and yelling his name at the top of his lungs. Especially with who the hell knew how many cops only a block or so away.

But the two other teenage punks standing with LeRoi were more quickwitted. In a flash, they hauled ass across Hancock Street and disappeared into a wall of huge, thick bushes that had grown wild on the deserted lot.

Curtis saw LeRoi watching his buddies run away. Then LeRoi looked back at the van, then back to the bushes. As LeRoi started to cross Hancock to follow his buddies, Curtis held up the big square envelope to the windshield and tried to mime that it was intended for him.

It didn't work. LeRoi kept walking.

"Michael," Curtis said as he turned the minivan onto Hancock and drove up on the cracked sidewalk, "tell your uncle he's got a package."

Michael yelled, "You gots a package, LeRoi!"

LeRoi slowed and warily looked over his shoulder.

Curtis motioned again with the envelope, stopping the minivan at the alleyway and putting it in park. He rolled down his window and with a raised voice said, "This is my last try to find you. You don't sign for it, the check gets sent back today!"

At the mention of money, the expression on LeRoi's face changed.

As LeRoi Cheatham started back toward the alley, Curtis felt for his Glock under his shirt, then opened the driver's door. He walked around to Michael's door and opened it.

"What up?" Michael said.

Curtis took a ten-dollar bill from his wad of cash and showed it to Michael as he watched LeRoi coming closer.

"You know what a lookout is?" Curtis asked.

"For cops?" Michael said. He nodded. "Yeah. LeRoi pay me to say if I see one."

"Right," Curtis said, folding the ten-spot and handing it to the kid. "Go stand around the corner and let me know if any cop comes this way. I will come tell you when we're finished here."

Michael nodded once, took the money, and ran back to Jefferson Street.

Will Curtis turned in time to see LeRoi Cheatham come around the front of the minivan.

"What this shit about a check?" LeRoi said, looking at him hard.

Those are some seriously bloodshot eyes, Curtis thought.

Wonder what he's on?

"You're LeRoi Cheatham, right?"

"Damn right." He nodded his head once.

So that's where Michael got that nod from.

"Need to see some government ID…"

"Shit, man," he said, staring at Curtis with a look of disgust. Then he turned and spat behind him into the alley. He turned back and, as he began digging in the front pocket of his pants, said, "Just gimme my damn check."

Curtis remembered what he had thought when Shauna Mays realized there was no money in the envelope. This time, as Curtis pulled the Glock from his waistband and aimed it at LeRoi's chest, he said it.

"Sure. Here's your reality check."

Then he squeezed the trigger. Twice.

LeRoi fell backward into the alleyway.

Not thirty seconds after that, Michael Floyd came running back and called out, "Cop!"

After putting the warm pistol back under his shirt, Curtis walked to intercept him. He tore open the envelope and pulled out LeRoi's Wanted sheet.

Michael looked around.

"Who got shot?" he asked. "Where LeRoi?"

"In the alley," Curtis said. "But don't go in there."

Curtis put the Wanted sheet on the van window, then took his FedEx ballpoint pen and wrote "Lex Talionis, Third amp; Arch, Old City, $10,000 reward" on the back. He handed the sheet to Michael.

"Give this to your mother. And do what the cops say. Cops are good. They will get you back home. Okay?"

Michael Floyd, looking confused, took the sheet and stared at the mug shot of his Uncle LeRoi. After a moment, he pointed to the Last Known Address.

"My house," he said.

"Right, Michael. That's from when LeRoi lived there. That sheet says he did very bad things. And when you're bad, you have to be punished." Curtis paused to let that sink in.

"That what Mama said." He was still looking at the sheet. "That why LeRoi live here."

"You be good, Michael."

Michael Floyd looked up at Will Curtis, then finally shrugged and nodded once. As Will Curtis drove two blocks north, he heard sirens coming from the vicinity of where LeRoi Cheatham lay dead.

His pulse racing, he quickly stopped the minivan and got out. He peeled off the magnet-backed FedEx signs from both front doors, then hid them under the floor mat in the rear cargo area. Back in the car, he pulled on his denim jacket to cover his FedEx uniform shirt, buttoning it up as he drove.

He turned left on Cecil Moore Avenue and, still hearing sirens, had another idea. After two blocks, he turned down Second Avenue and followed it five blocks to where Second fed into the new Schmidt's Brewery entertainment complex.