“You know what to do,” he said to Divinity.

He walked toward the bank as she drove off. He went around to the drive-thru where he could not be seen. It wasn’t long before a young man in a Honda Civic hatchback parked in front of the ATM. Smoke came out from behind the bank, taking his time. The young man was busy making his transaction and didn’t notice Smoke’s angled approach out of range of the camera.

Smoke was so swift his victims were always too shocked to move. He slapped duct tape over the camera lens and the man’s eyes. Smoke jabbed the barrel of his Glock pistol into the small of the man’s back.

“Don’t move,” Smoke said quietly.

The man didn’t.

“Hand the money behind you real slow.”

The man did. Smoke looked around. Another car was pulling off Patterson, heading to the ATM. Smoke snatched the duct tape off the camera lens and ran behind the bank. He started jogging, turning on Libbie Avenue, then Kensington. He slowed to a walk in the driveway of the small brick house where Divinity was waiting in the Escort.

“How much you get, baby?” she asked as Smoke casually climbed in.

“Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, a hundred,” he counted. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

Judy Hammer couldn’t believe it. This had to be one of the most bizarre things that had ever happened to her. Two white supremacists named Bubba and Smudge were going to murder a black woman named Loraine. She lived near some sort of old pumps where the killers would park and wait with engines and headlights off. Money was involved, perhaps several hundred dollars. Hammer paced, Popeye anxiously at her heels. The phone rang.

“Chief Hammer?” It was West.

“Virginia. What the hell was that?” Hammer asked. “Any way we can trace it?”

“No,” West’s voice returned. “I don’t see how.”

“I’m assuming we both heard the same thing.”

“I’m still on a cell phone,” West warned. “Don’t think I should go into it. But it sounds like something we’d better take very seriously.”

“I completely agree. We’ll talk about it after the presentation. Thanks, Virginia.” Hammer was about to hang up.

“Chief? What were you calling me about when I was on the track?” West quickly reminded her.

“Oh. That’s right.”

Hammer searched her thoughts, trying to bring up what she was calling West about when the rednecks broke into their conversation. She paced, Popeye with her every step.

“Oh, I remember. We’re already getting responses to our new website,” Hammer said, pleased. “Since Andy’s op-ed piece.”

“That worries me,” West replied. “I think we should have done a little troubleshooting, Chief.”

“It will all be fine.”

“What are they saying?”

“Complaining,” Hammer replied.

“I’m shocked.”

“Don’t be cynical, Virginia.”

“Any reaction to what he said about escalating juvenile crime? And Richmond’s gang mentality about not having gangs, or however he put it? About the country’s desperate need for radical juvenile justice reform?”