In the morning he retraced his steps and picked up the men who had slept at the bar and cajoled them into action. As for Simon, he kept a special eye on him. He never worried about the quality of Simon’s work or if he’d show up—these were never issues for him. Rather, he tried to protect Simon for Betty’s sake. Even though she hadn’t opened the door for One-Two, hadn’t given him much reason to hope, he hadn’t talked himself out of loving her. Simon saw it plain as day.

“One-Two,” he slurred though his whiskey, “she ain’t gonna bend. She ain’t the bendin type.”

“Don’t be so sure about your mom,” cautioned One-Two. “She’ll surprise you.”

“She’s always surprising. But her mind gets set and,” he burped, “and that’s that.”

“Well, I ain’t got nothin better to do. I might as well keep hopin.”

“Go ahead.” Simon clapped him on the back, but kept his hand there, in quiet dialogue that said, I would’t mind it one bit.

And then there was the fall. The crane was loaded past capacity and the rear stabilizers weighted down with beam to keep it from tipping. One-Two was on the third floor signaling the load and the cable snapped.

The beam crashed straight down and the cable snaked and doubled and whipped through the corner of the third floor. It could have been worse. If the braided steel had hit One-Two directly it would have cut him in half. He’d seen it happen. Strange that metal rope, when swung fast enough, acts like a knife. One-Two turned in, as if the shelter of his shoulders could stop it, but the instinct remained, the way he saw men cringe against an onslaught of rifle fire in Korea though it did no good. The cable passed over his head and made the same sound as a gull’s wings when it locked and rocketed in, making the air rip.

It passed overhead and on the way back it hit a generator and a stack of steel plate. The half-inch steel flew off the ground and slammed into One-Two’s shoulder, thigh and arm. His shoulder socket was crushed, his hip shattered. The impact sent him flying off the third story. He landed in the torn sand of the construction lot, flat on his back, and he can’t remember what his back hit. It could have been a lunch box or a piece of beam end, a boot, or even a small block of two-by-four left over from a foundation form. It could have been anything and he landed with his spine directly on it.