“Good idea.”

AFTER DINNER, Herbie and Marshall climbed a broad staircase to the upper floor of the penthouse and wandered around. They found themselves alone in the master bedroom.

“I’m sure there’s a john around here somewhere,” Marshall said. “Excuse me while I find it.”

Herbie stepped out onto the bedroom’s terrace and was amazed at the view north. It was a cool night, clear of any haze, and the city’s skyline looked like a gigantic movie set. He leaned on the railing and took it all in.

“Well, Herb,” he heard a voice behind him say, so he turned around.

Dink Brennan was standing there, uncomfortably close to him. “Hello, Dink,” he said. He put a hand on Dink’s chest and pushed slightly. “Back off just a little, will you?”

Dink took hold of Herbie’s wrist and twisted a little. “This is good,” he said. “Did you take a look over the rail?”

“No, I didn’t,” Herbie said, trying to free his hand.

“Straight drop, seven or eight stories to the alley,” Dink said. “I’ve been waiting for a moment like this with you.”

Herbie was backed up against the rail, with Dink only inches from him, so he didn’t have much room to swing. He closed his free left hand and aimed a straight punch to Dink’s nose, but Dink saw it coming and turned his head back, and the blow glanced off his cheek.

“Good,” he said. “That makes this self-defense.” Still holding the wrist, he hooked his other hand into Herbie’s trousers and lifted him off his feet. Herbie swung his left again, to no great effect, and he found himself sitting, precariously, on the railing. He grabbed it with his left hand and hung on for dear life. It was clear that Dink was not kidding.

Then, with a push of both hands, Dink sent Herbie backward, off the railing. For a moment, Herbie clung with his left hand, but his body twisted from his momentum, and he lost his grip and started down.

“Bye-bye, Herb,” Dink was saying.

A few feet down, Herbie flailed into a length of pipe jutting perhaps eighteen inches from the building. He had time to think that it must be a drain for the deck. He got one hand on it and dangled, trying to stop his yawing and get the other hand onto the pipe.

“Here, Herb,” Dink said, throwing a leg over the railing, “let me help you.” He put his foot on Herbie’s hand and began to press his weight onto it.

Herbie got another hand on the pipe but couldn’t free his other from Dink’s foot. Then Dink drew back his leg for a kick.

“No stops this time,” he said, “just straight down.”

Herbie was looking up at Dink, and he saw a form behind him. Then, as Dink threw his kick, he seemed to lose his balance. The kick missed, and its momentum pulled him over the rail. “Oh, shit,” Herbie heard him say as he fell.