"An' people bitch 'cause we make so much fuckin' money," Tommy muttered, staring down from the twenty-second floor.

"Hey, I just sat on the bus with that guy yesterday," Vinny said, his mouth open in amazement.

On the sixteenth floor, Eddie crossed himself.

"Ah, the poor fuckin' guy was wearing a galvanized steel hat too," Jimmy O'Day said to Augie on the top deck.

"Great!" Augie laughed. "So his fuckin' brains woulda looked like chopped liver instead a soup."

***

At three-thirty, after the whistle, men lingered in the various shanties discussing the death.

"Them fuckin' guineas," Augie said, pacing the dimly lit floor. He was naked from the waist down and pulled his dick as he talked. "Them fuckin' wops, they're animals. Who took my fuckin' shorts?"

None of the Italian electricians took offense. Augie was talking about real guineas. Real just-off-the-boat mustache-and-baggy-pants paisans.

"It shoulda been two a them," said Vinny.

"You think they'll ever catch the guy?" Stony was the most shaken of anybody in the shanty. His face was chalky.

"Yeah, right away." Tommy's cigarette dangled from his mouth as he hitched up a pair of dress pants with both hands. "C'mon, kid, let's go." Tommy ushered Stony from the shanty, an arm around his shoulder.

"You had a good time this morning, hah?" Tommy asked. They picked their way through the assorted debris and rubble of the site to the car.

"You don't think they'll catch the guy?"

"Nah, them guinzos is thick as thieves. Have a good time today?"

"It was all right." Stony repressed a smile.

"Still doin' the hospital Monday?" Tommy tried to control himself.

Stony sighed and expelled air from puffed cheeks. "Pop, get off my back." Flat and tired.

"You know you're killin' me, Stony?" Tommy's voice cracked as if he were going to cry.

Stony felt terrified. He wrenched his shoulders free from Tommy's arm, jammed his hands into his pockets and walked rapidly back toward the site. For the second time that day Tommy stared at his son's back.

Stony veered clear of the electricians' shanty as he walked to the far side of the building. He sat down on a square chunk of concrete, stared at nothing. He remembered what Malfie had said, "You can't run away from love." He didn't know which word stuck in his craw more, "can't" or "love." Maybe both together. Mrs. Pitt had said she had to leave home to get on with her life. Never went back. Never went back. Scary shit. He remembered trying to get to Amsterdam with a bankbook and no passport. Harris said leaving home is the hardest thing. The hardest. With no passport. No money. A fucking bankbook. He thought of Derek, Tyrone and the other little niggers in wheelchairs. Who the fuck were they? Who were they to him? What the fuck was he going to do? Sit there and tell stories to cripples all his life? Candy striper. You can't run away from love. You can't. Run away. From love. You can't. Love. Can't love. They loved him. Chubby. Tommy. Albert. Oh Jesus Christ. Albert. Are you man enough? Understand enough? When you left the Greek's you feel a tap on the back of your head? That was your change.