"I am sorry, sir. No one is admitted without an appointment.

Please have a nice day."

"Wait a second. Hello? Hello?" Myron pressed the button again. No reply. He leaned on it for several seconds.

Still nothing. He looked up into the camera and gave his best caring-homespun-family-guy smile. Very Tom Brokaw. He tried a small wave. Nothing. He took a small step backward and gave a great big Jack Kemp fake-throwing-a-football wave. Nada.

He stood there for another minute. This was indeed odd. A sixteen-year-old with this kind of security? Something was not quite kosher. He pressed the button one more time. When no one responded he looked into the camera, put a thumb in either ear, wiggled his lingers and stuck out his tongue.

When in doubt, be mature.

Back at his car, Myron picked up the car phone and dialed his friend Sheriff Jake Courter.

"Sheriff"s office."

"Hey, Jake. It's Myron."

"Fuck. I knew I shouldn't have come in on Saturday."

"Ooo, I'm wounded. Seriously, Jake, do they still call you the Henny Youngman of law enforcement?"

Heavy sigh. "What the fuck do you want, Myron? I

just came in to get a little paperwork done."

"No rest for those vigilantly pursuing peace and justice for the common man."

"Right," Jake said. "This week, I went out on a whole twelve calls. Guess how many of them were for false burglar alarms?"

"Thirteen."

"Pretty close."

For more than twenty years, Jake Courter had been a cop in several of the country's meanest cities. He'd hated it and craved a quieter life. So Jake, a rather large black man, resigned from the force and moved to the picturesque (read: lily-white) town of Reston, New Jersey.

Looking for a cushy job, he ran for sheriff, Reston was a college (read: liberal) town, and thus Jake played up hisas he put it "blackness" and won easily. The white man's guilt, Jake had told Myron. The best vote-getter this side of Willie Horton.

"Miss the excitement of the big city?" Myron asked.

"Like a case of herpes," Jake countered. "Okay, Myron, you've done the charm thing on me. I'm like Play-Doh in your paws now. What do you want?"

"I'm in Philly for the U. S. Open."

"That's golf, right?"

"Yeah, golf. And I wanted to know if you've heard of a guy name Squires."

Pause. Then: "Oh, shit."

"What?"

"What the fuck are you involved in now?"

"Nothing. It's just that he's got all this weird security around his house "

"What the fuck are you doing by his house?"

"Nothing."

"Right," Jake said. "Guess you were just strolling by."

"Something like that."

"Nothing like that." Jake sighed. Then: "Ah what the hell, it ain't on my beat anymore. Squires. Reginald Squires aka Big Blue."

Myron made a face. "Big Blue?"

"Hey, all gangsters need a nickname. Squires is known as Big Blue. Blue, as in blue blood."