"Where you runnin' to?" Concepción laid his nightstick across Stony's naked chest. Stony looked down at the stick, then back up at his interrogator. Fucking spic Mickey Mouse cop.

"You take that stick outta my face, Cap'n Bubba, and I might just tell you!"

Concepción pressed the stick harder into Stony's chest. "I'll lay your fuckin' brains out all over the ground." Despite the calm tone of his voice. Stony felt Concepción trembling through the wood across his chest. "Fuck off," Stony sneered and pushed the nightstick away. Concepción smiled, allowing Stony to turn. Out of the corner of his eye Stony saw the stick coming down, lunged to the left and felt a stinging pain in his shoulder. Struggling to keep his balance and wheeling around he charged head down at Concepción's gut. Concepción fell over backward with Stony on top. Stony grappled for the nightstick, flung it into the grass and brought his fist down across Concepción's cheek. Stony went berserk. Tried to pound Concepción's face into jelly. "Where you runnin'! Where you runnin'! Where you runnin'!" in rhythm with the blows. Concepción was out cold. Blood trickled from his nose and the corner of his mouth. Stony got to his feet with a delicious exhaustion. He tasted blood in his mouth. He was high as a kite. With his bare foot he kicked Concepción in the ribs. Concepción grunted but hardly moved. Stony stumbled to a bench near the back of the building, sat down and tried to stop shaking.

He took some deep breaths through his nostrils. The faint familiar stench of the bay was soothing. He shut down all his other senses and concentrated on that smell. Stony felt calm. His mind was clear. Blank. Peaceful. He rose and headed upstairs.

One ring, two, six, ten...

"Yeah?" Doctor Harris' voice was thick with sleep.

"Harris? You stay the fuck away from me..." Stony jabbed the air with his finger as he hissed in the phone. "You stay the fuck away from Albert. You stay the fuck away from all of us, unnerstand?"

"Who the hell is this?" Harris growled.

"Take a goddamn guess." Stony almost spat the words, then hung up.

He started to remove his dungarees, stopped, zippered them up again, took the white canvas utility belt that was hanging on the bedpost and buckled it on. He sat cross-legged, hunched over, staring at the weak gray light filtering through the curtains. The pliers in his belt stuck him under his ribs but he didn't move.

"No wait, hold it, hold on, hold on." He couldn't tell if he spoke out loud or if he just thought the words. He couldn't tell if he was crying or not.

He was.