"He brought the girl's bones up North, but I've put his story on paper. I give it up when my ass is safe and a long way from here."

She sounded like the thought was col apsing even as she voiced it. "Why now?"

"They wasted Dorsey He did their work, and they wasted him." She shook her head and turned back to her surveil ance.

"And I've become them." Her voice dripped with self-loathing. "I set that reporter up."

"What reporter?"

"Lyle Crease. I figured something was up when you asked about him, so I tuned into the news that night. Sure enough, he was the one I saw at Cherokee's place. I dropped his name to the Vipers for a bag of flake."

"Jesus Christ."

"I'm a goddam junkie, al right?" It was almost a shriek. "When you're coming down and the world is closing in, you'l dime your mother for a score.

Besides, I had other reasons."

Her hands began to tremble, and she pressed her fingertips to her temples.

"Later, I phoned Crease to set up a meet at the cemetery." Again the self-deprecating laugh. "Back on big rock candy mountain."

"Did they ask you to arrange a meeting?"

"Yeah. They plan to take Crease out, and some Heathens, too."

"What does this have to do with my nephew?" My mouth was so dry I could hardly speak.

"Crease said not to try anything funny because he would have the kid with him."

I heard the rumble of a train far up the tunnel.

Again, the head shake. Her face looked hard in profile.

"This funeral's going to be one big snuff film, and your nephew could have a starring role."

I felt a change in air pressure as the train grew louder. Passengers on the far side moved toward the platform's edge.

Jocelyn's gaze froze on something across the tracks. The hooded eyes grew puzzled a moment, then widened in recognition. Her mouth opened.

"Lecom -- !" she screamed, and her hand shot to the duffel's zipper.

The train thundered in.

Jocelyn's head flew backward, and a dark cumulus spread around it on the wal . I threw myself to the concrete, and covered my head with both hands.

Brakes shril ed, whooshed.

I tried to scramble behind the bench, under it, anywhere. It was bolted to the wal ! There was nowhere to go!

Doors opened. Commuters both boarded and left the train.

On our side, screams. Faces turning. Bewilderment. Horror

The train barreled off.

Then the sounds changed. Panicked retreat. People running.

After a ful minute with no more shots, I cautiously rose to my feet, bone and brain matter on my jacket. My stomach lurched and I tasted bile.

Voices. English. French. "Attention!"

"Sacrifice!"

"Cal the police."

"El e est morte?"

"They're on the way."

"Mon Dieu."'

Confusion. A rush for the escalators.