The flashing red lights from the other emergency vehicles burned shadows across Trimble’s face.

When he didn’t ask one right away, I said, “He mentioned that you two worked together, plainclothes. That you went through some tough spots together.”

“Yeah, well, your paper did its best to make sure things didn’t go easy for me.”

I honestly didn’t know what my newspaper had written about that night when Trimble had frozen and Lawrence had shot that kid. That was back when I was working at home, writing science fiction novels, and not keeping up with the news the way I had to now. For a moment, I felt wistful.

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about that,” I said. “Before my time.”

“Who did that to Lawrence?” He motioned with his head in the direction of the apartment.

“I don’t know.”

“He’s in surgery now. The paramedics say he was stabbed. So far, none of the neighbors report hearing anything.”

I repeated for him everything I’d told the uniformed cop. About the store stakeout, the guys in the black Annihilator, how the night before, they’d followed us when we were in Lawrence’s Buick.

“You think it was that bunch who tried to kill him?” Trimble asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m just telling you what I know. It’s kind of convenient, though, getting him out of the way before they raid the men’s shop.”

Trimble didn’t say anything for a while.

I continued, “Plus, someone was looking for something. The room he used for an office, it’s been tossed.”

“Tossed?” Trimble said.

“Isn’t that the word?” I said.

He reached for the radio hanging from the elaborate communications setup in the center of the dashboard. “Trimble here. We get anywhere tracking down the SUV that rammed in that store over on Garvin?”

“Negative,” a voice squawked back at him.

“If you get anything, let me know. That vehicle may also be wanted in connection with this thing here on Montgomery.” He replaced the handset and said to me, “I guess you’ve got a real good story to write now, huh? Hanging out with a detective who ends up nearly getting killed doing his job. That’s kind of lucky for you, right?”

I just shook my head. “Let me guess,” I said. “Next you’ll say, ‘Anything to sell newspapers.’ You know what sells newspapers? The horoscope. Where do you get off saying shit like that?”

Trimble almost looked ashamed. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“Look,” I said, “I haven’t known Lawrence as long as you, but I like the guy. We hit it off. And if you don’t need me for anything else, it’s been a very long night, and I’d like to go home.”