She shuddered, lurched sideways, but I’d moved up behind her, was leaning against her. “Climb,” I said in my fiercest voice.

She steadied herself and started up again. I followed, patting her legs after each rung: you’re not alone, keep going.

Level 1. As we crawled onto the platform, the door at Level 3 burst open. The men in black started up the ladder. We pulled on the lock to the Level 1 hatch but couldn’t budge it.

“We sit on the edge of the platform and kick them in the head as they come up,” I said. “Unless you have a better idea.”

The men in black fired up at us. The bullets sprayed the concrete platform, and we had to stand up, jump out of the way.

“We stand and kick.” Cady’s face was set in granite lines.

The fusillade echoed and reechoed in the vast chamber. The noise drowned any sound behind us, and Cady and I both screamed as the Level 1 door opened.

Peppy burst through, flung herself at me, and started licking my face.

58
Ci Sono

I clutched Peppy’s fur, but she couldn’t possibly be there: she was looking after Nell Albritten. I was dying. In the middle of the gun smoke and noise, I was being granted a vision of my dog. I held out my arms, sure that if Peppy were here, my mother would soon arrive.

“Gabriella! Gabriella, ci sono, ci sono.”

“Not Gabriella,” a man grunted. “Lou and me. You gals need to be out of here—now.”

Thick arms lifted me. A black man, mole on his temple, I knew him. “Ed?” I said. “Peppy?”

“Ed it is. Dog’s right here. Get the little gal, Lou, let’s hump.”

We were passing clumps of uniforms. Peppy whined and barked, staying so close to Ed that he stumbled over her. Someone snapped orders at Lou and Ed to stop—Cady and I had to answer questions—but the two men kept pushing ahead. My feet banged into the faces and backs of people in uniforms who were hustling past us.

We moved into fresh air. Helpless tears ran down my face. Air. I’d thought I would never see daylight, breathe fresh air again. Lou and Ed quick-marched to the road, to a convoy of squad cars. I saw their truck, pinned in the middle, with its slogan breathing new life into old metal.

“Maybe you can breathe new life into old detectives.” I could hear the manic edge in my voice as I started to laugh.

“Steady now, Warshawski,” Ed said. “You got this dog worried enough without you falling to pieces on her, you hear me?”

“Bernie?” I said. “Bernadine Fouchard?”

“Little spitfire? She’s safe. Deke Everard picked her up on K-10. She tried to break his nose before he persuaded her he was with the angels.”