Hogg stepped inside, real slow. The slab of his hand slid up to his belly. He furrowed the matted yellow around the creased pit of his navel, between the hanging shirt edges. Then he dropped it, to hook the scuffed belt with his thumb, pulling the brass buckle down his gut. Things inside the hammy, hairy forearm moved. “Cocksucker, you wouldn’t believe the shit I just been through, tryin’ to find your ass.” He barked out one syllable of rough laughter. “You know them two motherfuckin’ bastards, Nigg and Hawk, had the nerve to come back to the bar? Well, like I was goin’ up to save them a run-in with all the fuckin’ pigs what was still hangin’ around after all Denny’s shit—I mean, I seen ’em hustlin’ you out the goddamn door; they must’ve thought I was asleep or something—anyway, I just took ’em back around in the alley, you see, explainin’ to them why all the cops was there and all about what Denny had done and all. Soon as I got ’em out of sight of anybody—well, I began to bang heads. Couldn’t bang Nigg’s too hard ’cause he works with me too often and probably will again, but I did in the white boy! He told me where you were.”

From the radio, Sawyers said: “… loading the sheet-covered bodies into the ambulance for that final …” and outside, along the docks, a siren made Hogg glance toward the window; red light swept the bottom corner of the screening. “… while the tiny, towel-covered figure—one of the orderlies nearly dropped his side of the stretcher, but now he catches it up, and they move on to the ambulance’s open doors. Yes, the tiny, draped figure is now inside. The orderlies are climbing in. Inspector Haley is over, talking to the driver. One of the orderlies looks out the back door—has he forgotten something? No, he’s just taking a last look at the scene here, as we shall be doing shortly, with its floodlights, its police cars, and the dozens of police officers still checking the barge for evidence. Now the door is being locked. The ambulance, starting slowly at first among the crowd of fishermen and other locals who are wandering around it, is beginning to drive off.” And from the radio speaker came the sound of the siren—thirty seconds old. “Momentarily, we’ll be switching you back to the studio for a final rundown on the search for Dennis Harkner, a wrap-up of the local and national news, and music till midnight with …”