'Run!' Smoke whispered to Weed.

They clanked and banged across the yard and along the street, not going anywhere fast. They were sweating and miserable. They were slowing down when Smoke spotted a thick boxwood hedge and stashed the bags out of sight. Light of foot, they ran back to the Escort.

They jumped in and drove back to Clarence Street and parked by the hedge. The loot was where they'd left it. Smoke emptied his pockets and shut everything he had stolen inside the trunk. Not a single car passed. Nothing stirred. Bubba's dog barked the way it always did.

Smoke started laughing hysterically as he drove off. Weed had no idea where they were going. He had never broken the law in his life except for the time he drew a disrespectful picture of a teacher he didn't like and was sent to in-school suspension for two days.

'I just held the bag, so I didn't really steal anything, did I, Smoke?' Weed asked. 'I mean, I'm not keeping any of it, either. It's all yours, right?'

Smoke laughed harder.

'Where we going?' Weed dared to ask.

Smoke started digging through CDs.

'Can I go home now?' Weed asked.

'Sure,' Smoke said.

He started rapping to Master P.

'It don't look like we're going the right way.' Weed raised his voice.

Smoke told him to shut up. Somehow they ended up on West Cary Street, which was nowhere near Weed's neighborhood. Smoke stopped the car in the middle of the road.

'Get out,' he said.

'What for?' Weed protested. 'I can't get out here!'

'You're walking for a while. To make sure you're wide awake when we pick you up later.'

Weed didn't know a thing about later. He didn't dare ask. Smoke's meanness was coiling and about to strike.

'Get out, retard,' Smoke warned.

'I don't know where I am.'

'Keep walking that way and you'll get to your street in a couple miles.'

Weed didn't move as he stared wide-eyed into the night, his head pounding. Smoke was checking his mirrors.

'Meet you two blocks from your house at three A.M. At Schaaf and Broadmoor,' Smoke said.

Weed didn't understand. His stomach was pushing everything the wrong way again.

'Bring your paints, retard. Whatever will work on a life-size metal statue in a graveyard.'

Weed opened his door and spat up bile on the pavement. He got out and almost fell again.

'Remember what happened last time when you were late,' Smoke reminded him. 'And anybody finds out what you're doing, I'm going to hurt you real bad.'

Weed stumbled to the side of the road and grabbed a speed-limit sign to steady himself. He watched Smoke's taillights vanish down the dark road. Weed sat down hard and begged God to help him. He got up and couldn't remember which way to go or where he was. He ducked behind walls and trees whenever headlights appeared, sometimes lying flat on his face and playing dead.

Niles was playing dead, too. He had given up trying. To hint that he had been sitting right on top of his owner's desk the instant the fish appeared on the computer screen, which had been at exactly 12:47 this afternoon.

Niles had done nothing to cause this unusual event, and frankly had assumed his owner had loaded a new screen saver for Niles's benefit, since he was very fond of fish and his owner was always looking for ways to please him and occupy his attention so he'd stay out of trouble.

Hammer moved her feet again under the table. Niles held on, paws snugly around her ankles, claws tucked in so he didn't run her hose.

'What about using fish to body-pack cocaine,' West said.

'Virginia, that's brilliant,' Hammer said, shaking her feet again.

'Drugs could get in undetected from Maine, Miami, from almost anywhere,' West went on.

'I want narcotics on it right away,' Hammer said. 'And Andy, call NIJ's Crime Mapping Center first thing in the morning and see what they can tell us. We'll hope the fish problem's not pervasive, not an indication of a virus.'

'With an address like that,' Brazil was frank, Tm worried about how many sites on the network might have been affected.'

'Tell NIJ our situation is urgent, that we're locked out of COMSTAT until we can resolve this,' Hammer said. 'I've really got to head on and let Popeye out. Virginia, please get your cat so I can move.'

'Niles, enough!'

Niles draped over Brazil's shoe. Brazil leaned over and played Niles's ribs like piano keys. Niles purred. Niles was very fond of Brazil and had nicknamed him Piano Man when all of them lived in Charlotte and Piano Man and Niles's owner used to get along and play tennis and go shooting and watch movies and talk about Piano Man's eventually leaving the Charlotte Observer and becoming a cop so he could write stories about crime that would change the way people thought.

Niles wanted his owner and Piano Man to get along again, even if it meant being thrown off the bed every night. Niles was irritated with his owner. She wasn't being the least bit friendly to Piano Man and was annoyed that Niles was purring for him. Niles jumped in Piano Man's lap.

'Sorry. Gotta go,' Piano Man said to Niles.

'Thanks for the beer,' Brazil said politely to West as he scooted back from the table. 'Chief Hammer, I'll get you safely to your car.'

West showed them out. She stood in front of the foyer table again, but not in time. Brazil saw the florist's card with West's name typed on it.

'Good night,' West said to them.

Chapter Twelve

Brazil was jittery and angry as he trotted under streetlights along Mulberry, worrying that he would find his BMW gone or vandalized. He was tempted to turn around and show up at West's house, demanding an explanation.

It was true that their relationship in Charlotte had been somewhat complicated by their differences. She was older and accomplished. She had power. Her personality was the opposite of his. But she had been his mentor when he worked the police beat for the paper and rode the streets at night as a volunteer cop. Those had been the best stories Brazil had ever written. They had won prizes and changed the way people thought. They had changed the way he thought, too.

He had decided to become a real cop, as his father had been, and West had given Brazil the courage. She had helped him and loved him even through fights that were violent storms. When they made up it was always unbelievable. Brazil could not think of her without reliving every taste and touch. He did not know why she had changed so abruptly, and when he had asked, she would not say. It was as if they had never been lovers or even close friends. He did not push because maybe his primal fear was true. He just wasn't worth it. No one in his life had ever made him feel he was. His father had died when Brazil was a boy and Brazil's mother did not love herself and wasn't capable of loving anyone. For a while, West had filled a terrible space in Brazil's life. He hated Jim. How dare Jim send her flowers.

Smoke ordered Sick, Beeper, Dog and Divinity to keep an eye on Weed and make sure he didn't try taking a detour that might screw up their plans for the night.* So the Pikes set out in Dog's '69 Pontiac Lemans, cruising dark stretches of West Gary looking unsuccessfully for any sign of the drunk little motherfucker.

'I'm thirsty,' Divinity said.

'Fucking yeah,' said Beeper.

'Come on, Dog. Let's see you do your trick,' Divinity said.

Dog didn't like being thought of as a dog that did tricks. He never said anything, though. He pretty much just went along and did what he was told.

'What flavor you want this time?' Dog asked.

'Lemme see,' Divinity considered. 'How about something ice, baby? Maybe Michelob Ice? I'm fucking sick of Bud and all that other shit you're always getting that tastes like piss. 'Sides, baby, ice got more spin in it. You know, makes your head go round and around.'