A bottle thrown off the rooftop landed in the alley and exploded. All three were startled. One piece struck Starrell in the side of the face. On reflex, he brought his free hand toward the wound.

The man in front of him dropped to the ground and grabbed a screwdriver that was lying among the electrical cords. He threw it at Starrell. The handle hit Starrell in the neck. He staggered forward and dropped to his knees. A glass shard sliced his knee. He looked around. The man was running down the alleyway.

Starrell jumped up and started to chase. The gun was still in his hand. He rushed past Lancette and then realized he had a choice: her or him.

“Fucker!” he yelled.

He grabbed her.

“C’mon, let’s go,” he said. “Got somebody for you to talk to.”

He put the gun in his pocket and pulled her out of the alley.

“You Janet Lang?” he asked.

“Let me guess,” she said. “You want me to talk to a Mr. Dunne?”

Starrell stopped walking.

“What’s the fuckin’ game here?”

“He and I have already met,” she said. “Were you watching for me?”

“Nope, I was scoping for this squirrelly dude. But I saw you come out, and thought maybe you was the girl here before looking for someone. That freakin’ red-head monster said something about you. Then that asshole snatches you. Is he the fucker you was looking for?”

“It would be an odd coincidence if he wasn’t.”

She glanced at the bloodstain on his pants leg.

“Fuckin’ new jeans,” he said. “Man, what was all that shit about his shirt?”

“Thought he might have a gun under it … . I hope Mr. Dunne is going to pay for a new pair of pants.”

“He better be.”

“Mind if I ask your name?”

“Yeah, I do,” he said.

Starrell’s uncle was working late in his office. His eyes widened when Starrell and Lancette entered.

“What do you have there?” the uncle asked, looking at the bulge in Starrell’s pocket.

Starrell took out the gun.

“God-damnit, boy,” the uncle sputtered. “I told you not to bring any street stuff into my building. I told you—”

Starrell held the butt of the gun toward him.

“It’s empty,” he said.

Lancette looked at him.

“Had to scare some motherfucker. Got it from Willie. Thing don’t even work. Jammed up or something. He found it wrapped up in newspaper in the bathroom at church.” He turned to Lancette: “No shit.”

“You watch your mouth,” the uncle said.

“Now I got to use the phone.”

“And I have something to show you.”

The uncle handed Starrell a page from the day’s newspaper and pointed to a photograph of a man and a news story.

“Guess we’re not getting any back rent,” the uncle said.