"What I want to do is hire you," the woman said, aiming her voice at a pool of blackness.

"Tell me," the voice said, as the car turned a corner.

3

The top floor of the luxury apartment building looked more greenhouse than penthouse–the exterior walls were all glass. Past the glass, a railed balcony ran the length of the apartment, wide enough to accommodate a substantial outdoor garden. Three men sat in the living room, widely separated, on different points of a white horseshoe–shaped sofa. Another occupied a black leather lounger. The fifth man was standing, talking. A computer sat in one corner, its double–width screen a mass of paper–white emptiness. Against the windows, a matched pair of high–power telescopes on tripods, one fitted with a 35mm camera instead of a conventional eyepiece.

In the alley behind the building, a man carefully shaped a claylike substance around the edges of a door marked SERVICE ENTRANCE. When he was done, a string dangled from the lower edge of the substance.

Around the front of the building, a razor–thin black man walked soundlessly across the carpet runner toward the security guard on duty behind a marble–topped desk. The black man was wearing a Zorro hat and a calf–length black leather coat, black gloves on his pianist's hands. The security guard, a burly black man with a round, friendly face, looked up from the bank of video monitors behind him.

"Can I…?' But before he could finish his challenge, the intruder was two feet from his face, the gap bridged by a sawed–off shotgun.

"What's the haps, home?" the slim black man whispered, holding the scattergun as casually as a cigarette.

"Ace…"

"You remember me from the 'hood? Good. Let's you and me talk, okay?" The slim black man slid behind the front desk and sat down, slouching so that he was invisible from the front. "Just be calm, brother. Don't be reaching for the piece, okay? You know me, you know what I do. Good news is…it ain't you. Understand?"

"I got it."

"Here's the deal. Real simple. Lady's gonna come in. With another guy. You don't know her. You don't say nothing to her. Just watch the little TVs here, do your job, all right? Some time's gonna pass. You and me, we gonna pass it together, see? Talk about old times. When the lady leaves, I'll be right behind her. That's all she wrote. Nothing's gonna happen. Not to you, not to nobody. Unless you gotta be stupid. You gonna be stupid, brother?"

"No."

"Good. We got a contract. Now grab hold of this." The slim black man handed over a thick white envelope. "It was 303 today. Remember it, bro'…that's your lucky number from now on. You had a dime on it, straight up. With Spanish Phil's bank, South side, do or die. This here's your payoff, case anybody asks you where it come from. Six grand, ain't that sweet?"

"Sure is."

"Okay. Let's chill, now. Nothing more to do. Ain't gonna be no po–leece in this. No reports, no phone calls, no nothing. But listen up, homey: I got a contract of my own. Contract says you don't do nothing. You try it, I got to leave you here, right?"

"I'm not…"

"Right?"

"Right."

"Righteous. Now, which one of these little TV things covers the front door?"

4

The woman walked in, the bodybuilder at her side, carrying an attaché case. The man behind the desk didn't look up. They strolled leisurely over to the elevator bank, Their image didn't register on the TV screens, two of which were dark.

The couple got on the elevator. The man took out a small plastic box about the size of a cigarette pack. He pressed a button on the side of the box and a tiny red light glowed next to his finger.

The man in the alley was holding a similar transmitter. When his own red light blinked, he struck a match and held it to the string dangling from the door. There was a brief spark, then a flash followed by a muffled whoompf! as the door popped off its hinges, swinging free.

The man stepped through the door. As he did so, the shadow cast by an enormous dumpster moved with him. The shadow was human. Three hundred and fifty pounds of human, moving with a delicacy and grace that belied its bulk.

Both men huddled in the darkness. "Princess is inside with her now, Rhino. I figure we got a clean shot up on the service elevator. If they open the door, that'll mean I got in from the balcony. You roll in behind Princess. If the door doesn't open from the inside, it means I couldn't reach it like we planned. Let the woman ring the bell, then. The people inside, they'll probably crack the door on the chain. Just take it down, then come get me. Got it?"

"Yeah. If Princess don't jump the gun."

"He's not that stupid, Rhino."

"Yeah he is."

The two men boarded the Service Elevator, pushed the button marked 44. The car engaged smoothly, silently.

"Cross?"

"What?"

"You really think the broad's going through with it?" "We already got paid." Cross shrugged.

5

Inside the passenger car, Princess inserted a plastic card into a slot next to PH on the wall of the elevator. The letters lit up in recognition.

The service car stopped on 44. Both men got off. A seamless window was at the end of the corridor. Working quickly, Cross duct–taped the glass, working in an X pattern until it was completely covered. He stepped back. Rhino placed his gigantic hand against the glass, moving it delicately like he was feeling for a pulse. The tip of one finger was missing. The huge man nodded, then he slapped the fiat of his hand against the glass. Again and again. Cross peeled the duct tape toward him, pulling the glass along for the ride. He brushed away shards from the window sill and perched, facing Rhino, who held him around the waist.

Cross took a grappling hook from his coat. The hook was heavily taped except for the very tip, attached to a length of black Perlon climbing line.

"I think we got a shot," he said. "Ready?"

"Go," Rhino said.

Cross leaned completely out the window so his back was parallel to the ground below and heaved the grappling hook in an overhand motion. It caught. Cross pulled on it.

"That'll hold," he said. "I must have snagged it right."

Rhino took the line from Cross. "Let me see," he said, giving a mighty pull. "Yeah," he said.

Cross swung out the window, soles of his boots against the building, pulling himself toward the balcony. Rhino watched, looking up.

6

Cross levered himself over the balcony railing carefully, watching the activity inside. He crouched behind a potted tree, watching. The men were animated, focusing on their conversation. Cross slipped the black ski mask over his face, unslung the Uzi from inside his jumpsuit, took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Then he quietly slid back the glass door to the balcony and stepped into the living room.

"One man screams, everybody dies!" he spat out, sweeping the Uzi in short, menacing circles.

The five men were frozen, mouths open.

"You!" Cross barked, pointing a black gloved finger at the chubby blond man closest to the front door. "Open the door! Now!"

The chubby man got up on shaky legs and did it.