'Wel, bonsoir, sir. I'd forgotten you were bileted here.' The voice sounded like years of whiskey. Al I could make of its owner was a burly man in a dozer cap.

'The lilac shower gel is mine.'

'I've been respecting that, Detective Ryan.'

'I'd buy you a beer but the bar just closed.'

The man climbed to the porch, dragged a chair opposite the swing, placed an athletic bag beside it, and sat. The dim light revealed a fleshy nose and cheeks mottled with broken veins.

When introduced, FBI Special Agent Byron McMahon removed the hat and bowed in my direction. I saw thick white hair, centered and splayed like a cockscomb.

'This one's on me.' Unzipping the bag, McMahon produced a sixpack of Coors.

'Devil liquor,' said Ryan, puling a beer from the plastic web.

'Yes,' agreed McMahon. 'Bless him.' He waggled a can at me.

I wanted that beer as much as I'd wanted anything in a long time. I remembered the feel of booze filtering through my veins, the warmth rising inside me as the molecules of alcohol blended with my own. The sense of relief, wel-being.

But I'd learned some things about myself. It had taken years, but I now understood that every double helix in me carries a pledge to Bacchus. Though craving the release, I knew the euphoria would be temporary, the anger and self-loathing would last a long time. I could not drink.

'No, thanks.'

'There's plenty where this came from.'

'That's the problem.'

McMahon smiled, freed a can, and dropped the others into his bag.

'So what's the thinking at the FBI?' Ryan asked.

'Some son of a bitch blew a plane out of the sky.'

'Who does the Bureau like?'

'Your biker buddies score high on a lot of dance cards. This Petriceli was a lowlife sleaze with soup for brains, but he was wel connected.'

'And?'

'Could be a professional hit.'

A breeze swayed Ruby's baskets, and black shadows danced on the banisters and floorboards.

'Here's another script. Mrs. Martha Simington was seated in 1A. Three months ago Haskel Simington insured his wife for two milion big ones.'

'That's a chunk of change.'

'Goes a long way toward easing hubby through his pain. Oh, and I forgot to mention. The couple have been living apart for four years.'

'Is Simington enough of a mutant to cap eighty-eight people?' Ryan drained his Coors and tossed the empty into McMahon's athletic bag.

'We're getting to know Simington real wel.'

McMahon mimicked Ryan's performance with his empty can.

'Here's another scenario: 12F was occupied by a nineteen-year-old named Anurudha Mahendran. The kid was a foreign student from Sri Lanka and played goalie on the soccer team.'

McMahon released two more beers and handed one to Ryan.

'Back home, Anurudha's uncle works for Voice of Tigers Radio.'