A hair overdone, Devlin thought. In a mirror he could see that his shirt and jacket were a giant bloodstain. He had lost a lot of blood. If he was bleeding now, it wasn’t much. But he couldn’t think about that, either. The old man had overdone it because he liked death games so much. It had taken Devlin a few minutes to figure it out. The old man had told the story of Joe’s death because he’d thought he had been looking at a man about to die, the perfect audience. The old man’s eyes had given Devlin all the clues. Constantly searching Devlin’s, trying to read Devlin’s mind. What does he know? What is it like? Dying tormented Vittorio DiBennedetti. He had thought about it too long, in too many ways. Devlin hadn’t shown anything—on target, he thought, for a man who had it in the back of his mind that maybe he really was only playing for a few more minutes of being alive.

The Lincoln had been turned around. Sonny preceded him down the stairs. He was built like a small tank. “It’ll be dark soon. Your nose won’t show so much.” From across the roof of the car, he asked, “What street?”

Give a little more. “Columbus Avenue.”

Sonny got in and started the car. He buckled up. “You, too. They stop you for this shit now.”

As soon as Devlin was secure, Sonny pushed his release button. “I gotta get something.”

Devlin sat still. He was supposed to believe that he and Sonny were going into the city alone. Sonny was in the house telling the others that the street was Columbus Avenue. Maybe somebody was already thinking that Devlin was playing his string for every minute he could get. These guys were tough, but they weren’t geniuses. Being stupid had gotten them into this trouble in the first place and they knew it. They were going to have to settle for the second car following Devlin and Sonny, not going ahead to check things out. It wouldn’t do them any good if they went ahead, anyway. They wouldn’t see anything. And with them following the Lincoln, Devlin knew exactly where they were. And that was what was important.

7:08 P.M. …

7:08 P.M. …

The traffic was heavy, but moved smoothly until they reached the long grade up to the top of the Palisades. Then it was bumper-to-bumper, moving a car-length with every surge.

Devlin said, “Pull into the emergency lane and pass all this shit.”

“What?”

“You worried about getting a ticket? I still have my shield. Nobody’s going to recognize me with this over my face.”

“Not a chance. I don’t want to deal with cops. Besides, they’ll see us from the tollbooths. We get up there, they’re going to want to know what’s going on.”