“All right, it was a wasted trip,” Laurie said. “Let’s get some food. I’m starved.”

Lou switched the bottle of wine from one hand to the other, allowing him to swing his arm out of his trench coat. When he did, he clumsily knocked Laurie’s briefcase to the floor. The impact caused it to spring open and scatter the contents. The crash terrified the cat, who disappeared back into the bedroom after a desperate struggle to gain traction on the highly polished wood floor.

“What a klutz,” Lou said. “I’m sorry!” He bent down to retrieve the papers, pens, microscope slides, and other paraphernalia and bumped into Laurie in the process.

“Maybe it’s best you just sit down,” Laurie suggested with a laugh.

“No, I insist,” Lou said.

After they’d gotten most of the contents back into the briefcase, Lou picked up the videotape. “What’s this, your favorite X-rated feature?”

“Hardly,” Laurie commented.

Lou turned it over to read the label. “The Franconi shooting?” he questioned. “CNN sent you this out-of-the-blue?”

Laurie straightened up. “No, I requested it. I was going to use the tape to corroborate the findings when I did the autopsy. I thought it could make an interesting paper to show how reliable forensics can be.”

“Mind if I look at it?” Lou asked.

“Of course not,” Laurie said. “Didn’t you see it on TV?”

“Along with everyone else,” Lou said. “But it would still be interesting to see the tape.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have a copy at police headquarters,” Laurie said.

“Hey, maybe we do,” Lou said. “I just haven’t seen it.”

“Man, this ain’t your night,” Warren teased Jack. “You must be getting too old.”

Jack had decided when he’d gotten to the playground late and had had to wait to get into the game, that he was going to win no matter whom he was teamed up with. But it didn’t happen. In fact, Jack lost every game he played in because Warren and Spit had gotten on the same team and neither could miss. Their team had won every game including the last, which had just been capped off with a sweet “give and go” that gave Spit an easy final lay-up.

Jack walked over to the sidelines on rubbery legs. He’d played his heart out and was perspiring profusely. He pulled a towel from where he’d jammed it into the chain-link fence and wiped his face. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

“Come on, man!” Warren teased from the edge of the court, where he was dribbling a basketball back and forth between his legs. “One more run. We’ll let you win this time.”

“Yeah, sure!” Jack called back. “You never let nobody win nothing.” Jack made it a point to adapt his syntax for the environment. “I’m out’a here.”

Warren sauntered over and hooked one of his fingers through the fence and leaned against it. “What’s up with your shortie?” he asked. “Natalie’s been driving me up the wall asking questions about her since we haven’t seen nothing of you guys, you know what I’m saying?”