Anjean Jameson sat down on the couch. Starrell, occupied with the man in the raincoat, had not noticed him entering the hotel. The knapsack was between them.

“Hey, bro-man,” Jameson said, flashing a malicious smile.

Starrell saw the Secret Service men staring at them.

“Ain’t the time, Anjean.”

Starrell pulled the bag closer, and Jameson grasped one of the straps.

“I got nine reasons why its fuckin’ perfect Miller time—and each one is a millimeter.” He patted the lump in his nylon sweatpants.

“Anjean—”

“Don’t make me go crazy bad on you,” he said. “I tried to be a reasonable black man, but you—”

“Shit, we got fed-boys all over. This ain’t no place for you to make a dumb-ass move.”

Jameson gazed across the lobby. “They couldn’t catch me yesterday. They can’t today.”

“This ain’t yesterday.”

“Where’s your white-boy partner?”

“He’s coming.”

“And the deal?”

“Ain’t no deal, Anj.”

“Gotta be something for me, Twayne. And Willie. Our family keeps your ass safe, and we don’t get shit. Man’s gotta look out for family.”

“Anj, let me play it out, and when we got it all straight, we’ll figure something, okay?”

“Can’t feed no family on promises. How’bout this: I hold on to this for a while”—he pulled on the strap—“and you tell him to call me up?”

“Fuckit, Anjean, you’re a real—”

The two Secret Service officers were leaving their positions. Jameson pulled the gun out of his pocket and pushed the barrel into Starrell’s thigh.

“A real player,” he said. “And you know I’ll do it. Especially now that those faggots are gone.”

The man in the raincoat came out of the bar. He was following the Secret Service men, keeping his distance.

“Listen up, motherfucker,” Starrell said. “Shit’s happening right the fuck now. You listen to me and I’ll make sure you—”

Jameson pushed the gun harder against Starrell.

“No, lover-man, here’s the tune: I’m going to get up. You let go of the fuckin’ bag. Or else that’ll be fuckin’ it for Twayne. Got it? Here I go …”

As the elevator door closed, Margaret Hanover stepped in. The lift began descending, and Addis could hear the protests of the Secret Service officers trying to stop her from getting on the elevator without them. She had wanted to be alone with him.

Margaret stood in front of him, her back to the door.

“What do you know? Or think you know?” she asked.

“Probably less than there is to know.”

She said nothing and waited for another reply. He looked at the illuminated numbers above the door.

Six, five …