The elevator stops at the seventh floor. Raymond keys the power OFF and steps out.

Marvis looks up. “Something wrong?”

“Just watch your television, Marvis.” Raymond walks through pod 7-C, stopping at room 714. He keys in.

The room is dimly lit. The rancid scent of disinfectant and soured clothing fills the air.

The resident is lying on the mattress, his back to Raymond, a sheet pulled up to his ear.

“Evening, asshole. Here’s a little gift from your girlfriend.”

Raymond swings the rubber hose down hard across the sleeping man’s face. An agonized cry. The man attempts to get up. The hulking redhead kicks him back down, then beats him again and again across his back and shoulders until the testosterone rage is vented.

Raymond stands over the body, heaving from the effort. “Was that good for you, shithead? Hope so, cause it sure was good for me.”

He pulls back the sheet. “Oh, fuck…”

Rabbi Steinberg pulls the Dodge minivan over to the side of the road, parking next to the trash bin behind the convenience store. He slides opens the side door, removes the length of nylon rope, and quickly tosses it into the garbage. Then he climbs in back and helps Mick off the floor and onto the seat. “Are you all right?”

Mick looks up through vacant eyes. “Thorazine.”

“I know.” The rabbi lifts his head and gives him a sip of bottled water, cringing at the bruises along the man’s arms. “You’re going to be all right. Just rest, we have a long ride.”

Mick is unconscious before his head hits the car seat.

The tow truck is already pulling the Pronto Spyder onto its flatbed by the time the first Dade County police cars arrive.

Raymond runs out of the entrance to greet them, then spots Dominique. “It’s her! Arrest her!”

Dominique feigns surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“Fuck you, you know what I’m talking about, Gabriel’s escaped.”

“Mick escaped! Oh my God, how?” She looks at the police officers. “You don’t think I had anything to do with it. I’ve been stuck out here for twenty minutes.”

The tow-truck driver nods. “It’s true, Officer, I can vouch for that. And we haven’t seen a damn thing.”

A brown Lincoln Continental screeches to a halt in front of the main entrance. Anthony Foletta climbs out, dressed in a pale yellow jogging suit. “Raymond, what’s … Dominique, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I stopped by to drop off my letter of resignation. My father was killed in a boating accident. I’m leaving the program.” She glances over at Raymond. “Looks like your goon here screwed up pretty good.”