I caught a quick shower, taking care not to undo with the loofah what little work my spell had done. When I was out, dried and dressed, I put in a call to Rafael Chavez. I briefed him on what I'd found at the factory in Inglewood, and ordered him to put some boots on the ground in the neighborhood to keep an eye on it.

"We should hit it, Domino. Why wait for Papa Danwe to use it on us?" Chavez had juice, but he was still a man.

"Did I mention the wards, Chavez?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Did I mention that I couldn't even see a couple of them, including the one that almost knocked me into the OC?"

"Yeah, boss, it's just-"

"That's what I thought. We send guys in there without knowing what we're up against, chances are good this war goes hot, on the Haitian's terms, and our people wind up dead."

"You're right, Domino. I just don't want to give him time to use the fucking thing on us. Whatever it is."

"Neither do I, Chavez. If I was sure we could take it out without knowing what it is, how it works, how it's protected, I'd say fuck it and send in the Marines."

"Okay, D. I can have some theory geeks look at it."

"Good idea, but make sure everyone knows this is strictly surveillance. No one goes inside that fence, Chavez."

"Thing is, boss, this is some fucked-up shit. Guys getting squeezed by another outfit, that I can get my head around. Making a move on Crenshaw, trying to push Rashan out, that I can understand. Maybe it's not exactly business as usual, but yeah, sometimes gangs go to war. We do shit like that, you know? We don't build the fucking Death Star in the middle of Inglewood."

It seemed obvious, but Chavez made an important point. The outfits survived by existing on the margins. We got away with a hell of a lot by not attracting attention to ourselves, keeping our heads down well below the veneer of civilization. But we did not, under any circumstances, draw unnecessary attention to ourselves.

The craziest thing about this new development was that Papa Danwe had apparently decided he didn't care. There would never be one hundred percent agreement on the rules of our thing, but you don't build a magic cannon in Inglewood. It was so far beyond the pale it would have seemed ridiculous if I hadn't seen it myself, hadn't felt the juice Papa Danwe was pumping into it.

It was like the Cosa Nostra deciding to build a battleship in the Hudson River. Apart from the fact that it seemed like a really stupid idea, there could be no doubt that someone wasn't just changing the rules, they were changing the game.

"I hear you, Chavez. It doesn't make any sense. Even if you can build it, I don't see how you can use it. You light the fuse on something like that, this whole party's over."

"Unless…" said Chavez, his voice fading out. "Unless you think the party's already over. Maybe it's like the nuclear option, chola. You only bring out the nukes when you know it doesn't really matter anymore."

"Maybe, but the party isn't over. It's not even winding down. Papa Danwe isn't being threatened. Not by us, not by any of the other outfits. Why go nuclear when life is good?"

"I don't know, boss. Maybe I'm wrong. Or maybe the Haitian doesn't see it the same way."

"Okay, here's what we do. I'm still not willing to hit that thing until we know what's going on, but I want you to put a strike team together. Have them standing by. If Papa Danwe tries to go nuclear, we take it out."

"How big a team you want, boss?"

"Jesus, Chavez, I don't know. Just some big hitters, bring them in from wherever. And send a few guys to run some tags in there, as close as you can get without blowing the lid off this thing. It won't do us any good to send in the heavy artillery if they can't get any juice."

"Okay, boss, I'll get it done. You coming down here?"

"Not yet. I'm going to try to get a sit-down with Terrence Cole. I don't know the guy, really, but I know him better than anyone else in Papa Danwe's outfit."

"I don't know, boss. I don't like the idea of you sitting down with those cocksuckers. They ought to come to us."

"Even Nixon went to China, Chavez. This is getting out of hand. If sitting down with Terrence means I can cool this out, I'll do it."

"If you say so, boss."

"Plus, I think he's into this thing up to his earrings. Maybe I can learn something."

My next call went to Sonny Kim. The Koreans had come down on our side, but they'd previously had a cordial relationship with Papa Danwe. They shared some of the same ghettos and generally managed to do it without killing each other. I knew Sonny Kim knew Terrence, and he was a good candidate for a go-between.

Kim promised he'd do what he could, and congratulated me on my clearheaded diplomacy in a time of crisis. Ten minutes later, he called back. Terrence Cole would meet me in Hollywood at the same bar where I'd sealed the deal with Kim and Zunin.

Unfortunately, there was no way I'd be able to meet with Terrence and still make my dinner date with Adan. Kim had arranged the sit-down for nine o'clock, and it would probably take an hour or so, plus drive time.

Then there was the whole question of whether I should be going out on a date with my boss's son when my outfit was at war. I considered it and decided I definitely wanted to see Adan if I could find the time. I'd made all the preparations I could. Sitting around my condo waiting wasn't going to do anyone any good, and besides, I had to eat. I was also still concerned about the Fred connection. I knew the vampire was involved in the escalating conflict with Papa Danwe, and I was concerned he had plans to somehow use Adan to the Haitian's advantage. So, really, I'd still be working if I kept my date with him. Sort of.

I decided I could make it work if Adan would agree to a late dinner. I called, and he did. He understood I sometimes had to keep odd hours-he reminded me who his father was, as if I might have forgotten.

I got to the bar at eight-thirty. I'd asked for the sit-down, it was on neutral ground, so I should get there first. Pick my spot, mark my territory, that kind of thing. Terrence was already there, waiting for me at a table in the back. He stood to greet me as I approached.

Terrence was the kind of guy you want to describe in one word. His word was wide. He had a wide forehead, wide-set eyes resting on wide cheekbones, a wide nose, wide mouth and a wide chin. He had no neck to speak of, but his muscular body was wide, too, all the way down to his feet.

Based on this, a person might think the guy had roughly the same shape as a city bus, but he was put together well. His skin was the color of strong coffee, his head was shaved, and all those wide features were pulled together in a round skull that was undeniably handsome, if a little imposing. His body was more or less the same shape as a city bus.

"Glad you could make it, Domino," he said, as if he had set up the meeting and I was running late. His voice sounded like a city bus would sound if it could talk.

"You, too, Terrence. Hope you didn't have to wait long." I offered my hand, and it was swallowed by his bus-size one. We sat down and ordered drinks. When the waitress had come and gone, we toasted our health and got down to business.

I was never a big fan of sit-downs in a situation like this. It always had a certain sting to it, like you want to talk while some guy is holding you down and doing something impolite. Most guys overcompensated for that by talking tough, so there were a lot of hard words flying back and forth without much being said. That got old fast, and with Adan waiting, I didn't have the time.

"Before we get started, I want to make something real clear. I'm not here to talk you out of anything, Terrence. If Papa Danwe wants a war, we'll give him one. But I don't see the profit in it."