Razz Johnson had something to prove. And he was gonna prove it today. The Lords figured they could come on his turf? Screw with his boys? They figured their way into the ground. They gonna come over to the west side, paint their shit right on his doorstep? Uh-uh. They were gonna learn some respect.

Right now his brother was in the hospital, and maybe he'd die.

They got the bullets out of his guts those motherfuckers put in him when his man led the force to Lords' turf for some goddamn retribution.

But T-Bone had ordered Razz to stay back, 'cause he hadn't reached the high level for warfare. Maybe, maybe if he'd been there, his brother wouldn't be lying in that hospital, maybe dying.

Razz knew what he had to do. Eye for an eye.

He drove along Hitch Street, enemy territory. He'd stolen the car, and he had his blue ball cap, part of his gang uniform, on the seat. If any of the Lords were hanging on the street, he didn't want them making him as Posse. Not yet. Not until he was ready.

He was fucking going covert.

He'd beaten his way into the gang. Even though his brother was high-ranking, he'd had to prove himself. He was a demon in a fight, fists and feet. He just didn't give up.

He had a talent for boosting cars, could be trusted on drug deals as he didn't care to use the shit. But so far he'd gotten shaky at the idea of guns and knives.

T-Bone said he couldn't shoot worth dick, and that was another why on leaving him back last night.

But there was a.45 semiautomatic, with the first round already racked, under the cap on the seat. And Razz wasn't shaking now. He was going to put that round right between the eyes of the one who shot his brother. Anybody got in his way, well, he'd put a bullet in them, too. What they called collateral damage.

He was going in, in the daylight, and he was going in wearing his colors. And if he didn't come back out again, well, that's the way it was. He was sixteen.

He pulled up across from the liquor store. He knew Clip used its back room for his "office." He hung out there, did some deals, talked his trash, got bj's from bitches trying to get raped into the gang.

He'd go 'round the back, that's what he'd do. Take out any guards if there were guards to take. Then through the door. Bullet between the bastard's eyeballs.

T-Bone was going to be proud. T-Bone was going to have the will to live when he heard he'd been avenged.

He put on his cap, proudly tipping it to the right. Under the long tail of his blue jersey he hitched the.45 in the waistband of his pants. It weighed like a cannon as he climbed out of the stolen car.

His high-tops were blue with yellow stripes. The bandanna hanging out of his back pocket was bright, bold yellow. The colors announced him as west side, as Posse, and such was his rage, his grief, his righteousness, he strutted in them across Hitch.

He was ready. He was so goddamn ready to do some damage. To do some death.

Maybe it showed on his face. He tried to make it show. His lips peeled back in a snarling grin, a surge of power, as he saw a group of women on a stoop glance his way, then rush inside.

Yeah, bitches. Better run. Better hide.

As he swaggered down the short alleyway around the liquor store, he drew the gun from his waistband. And he told himself the tremor in his hand was thrill, not fear. He put T-Bone's face, the way it had looked in the hospital, in his mind.

Already dead even if the machine was breathing for him. And their mama, sitting by the bed, holding her Bible and crying. Not saying nothing, not moving, just sitting with tears running down.

Those images pushed him around the corner, ripped a cry out of his throat as his finger quivered on the trigger.

But the back door was unguarded.

His heart thumped in his ears. It was all he could hear as he crossed the heat-softened tar and scrabbling weeds. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth where sweat had beaded. For T-Bone, he thought, then kicked viciously at the door until it fell open.

The gun went off like a live thing jumping in his hand. He didn't feel his finger make the pull. It just seemed to explode on its own, blasting a hole in the wall a foot above the dented metal desk. There was no one behind it, no one to take that bullet between the eyes.

His arm shook as he lowered the gun, as he stared at the empty space, the empty room. They'd call him a fool now, and laugh. That would make T-Bone a fool, and that couldn't be.

He had to do something. Something big.

When the inner door opened and the man stepped up, he knew what it was he had to do.

"HT's name is Charles Johnson, street name Razz." Detective Ricks from the Gang Unit filled Phoebe in. "Shots were fired, no reported injuries. He's got four people in there."

"What does he want?"

"Blood. There was a gun battle last night-west side Posse-the HT's gang, and east side Lords. HT's older brother took three bullets. He's critical. This Razz wants us to find the guy he claims did it. One Jerome Clip Sagget. We send Sagget in, he'll send the hostages out."

"How old is he?"

"Sixteen. No violent knocks on his record. Petty shit up till now. Older brother's a different matter. Serious badass."

"Okay." Phoebe studied the board, the log. At the table of the diner set up for communications, she opened her kit. "He's been talking to you?"

"Playing the same tune, but yeah. He's in the first stage. Give me what I want or there'll be hell to pay. He set a deadline, it's coming up in twenty."

"All right." She picked up the phone. He answered on the first ring. "You got that motherfucker?"

"Razz, this is Phoebe MacNamara. I'm a negotiator with the police."

"Fuck you, bitch."

There was fury in the voice, but there was fear under it. "You sound angry. I understand that. I have a brother, too."

"You think I give rat shit about your brother? You best be bringing in the motherfucker shot him, or I'm doing one of these assholes in here."

"We're trying to work on that, Razz. For right now, can you tell me, is everyone all right in there? Does anyone need medical attention?"

"Gonna need it. Gonna need a goddamn body bag, is what." His voice pitched up and down with terror and rage.

"You haven't hurt anyone yet, Razz, is that right? So far we're trying to find a way to make this right for everyone."

"Not gonna be right until I put a bullet in that Clip's brain. When that's done, it's all done."

"I hear that you want to punish the person you believe hurt your brother."

"I know what he did. My family told me. You think my family's liars?"

"Are you saying your family saw what happened to T-Bone?"

"Fucking right. Two more of 'em shot up, but T-Bone, he's next to dead. And the fucker did it to him's gonna face me. You bring him here, you hear what I'm saying? You bring him here or somebody dies." Family =Gang, she wrote on her pad. Pride amp; revenge. "You want us to find this man and bring him to you, so you can punish him yourself."

"How many times I got to say it?"

"I don't want to misunderstand you, Razz. I'm trying to understand what those people in there have to do with your brother being hurt. Do you think they were involved?"

"Don't mean a thing."

"They don't mean anything?"

"Collateral damage. I'll put a bullet in one right now, you don't think I mean what I say."

"I know you mean what you say, Razz. I need you to understand, Razz, that if you hurt anyone in there, we're not going to be able to work this out, not going to be able to try to get you what you want. I'm trying to contact the hospital, too. To contact the doctors who're taking care of your brother. I thought you might want to know how he's doing. Have you seen him today?"

She guided him into talking about his brother, through the first deadline. Hero worship. Absolute loyalty. When he spoke of his mother crying by his brother's bed, she nudged more out of him. No other sibs, no father in the picture.

Find the mother now! she scribbled on a piece of paper, and pushed it into Ricks's hand.

"Y'all getting hungry in there, Razz? I can send in some sandwiches."

"I got plenty of beer and chips. You think I'm stupid? You think I don't watch TV? Nobody comes in here, nobody but Clip."

"No one's coming in unless you okay it."

"Maybe I won't kill these assholes. Maybe I will. But they gonna be lying facedown in their own piss before long. I'm tired of talking to you. You got something else to say, you call back and tell me you've got that motherfucker."

When he broke the connection, Phoebe eased back. "Any progress locating this Clip?"

"He's gone under. We've got people on it."

"If we can tell the HT that Sagget's in custody, that he's being held, that may open a door. I want to know the minute he's found."

She glanced at the white-faced clock on the wall. Four forty-five. Odds were she was going to be late for dinner.

Duncan was pretty pleased with himself when he rang the bell on Jones Street. He was even more pleased when Essie answered it and the big smile broke across her face.

"Oh my goodness! Who's back there?"

He spoke from behind an enormous basket of red poppies. "Three guesses. Any place special you want these?"

"Just set them down right here until we figure that out. Aren't they beautiful! Come right into the parlor. You're right on time. Wine, too?"

"I don't often get invited to have dinner with four beautiful women. It's an occasion for me."

"For us, too." She took the wine, gestured. "You haven't met my daughter-in-law, have you? Josie, this is Duncan Swift."

"Make that five beautiful women. Nice to meet you."

"Fifth one's spoken for," Carter said as he carried in a tray of canapes. Carly was right behind him with a second, smaller tray. "How's it going, Duncan?"

"Going good. Hey, Carly."

"Mama's going to be late. She's working."

"I guess that happens. Looks like enough food in here to hold me awhile. Oh, I got you something."

Her gaze arrowed straight to the little pink gift bag he held. "A present?"

"A token for one of my hostesses."

"Thank you very much," she said with formal politeness under her grandmother's eagle eye. Then squealed with delight when she pulled out the hair tie. It looked like a bouquet-purple and white violets with a filmy trail of white ribbons.

"It's beautiful! I love it. Thank you!" Formality forgotten, Carly threw her arms around Duncan's waist, then danced back. "Can I go put it on? Gran, please, can I go put it on right now?"

"Run on then."

Carly made the dash, stopping once to toss Duncan a big smile over her shoulder.

"Aren't you the clever one?" Essie commented. "So they say."

By six-fifteen, Phoebe called home again and told Ava not to hold dinner on her account. Even if things resolved in the best possible way, there was no point in holding everyone else up while she dealt with the paperwork and debriefings.

She downed iced coffee, grateful someone had the foresight to make use of the diner's kitchen. Across from her sat Opal Johnson, Razz's mother. It had taken some time to track her down as she'd left her older son's bedside to sit on a bench outside the hospital and pray for his life.

Now she was here, in a diner filled with cops, struggling for her other child.

Progress had been made. Though he still refused to come out or release any hostages, Phoebe heard the changes in his voice, in his words.

His resolve was weakening. "He's going to jail, isn't he?"

"He'll be alive," Phoebe said. "He hasn't hurt anyone yet."

Opal stared blindly out the diner's window. She was stick thin, her dark face splotched from hours of weeping, her eyes exhausted from worry. "I did my best. I did all I knew. Work two jobs, made those boys go to school, to church. But my Franklin, he just goes his own way. And he took Charlie right along with him. Posse." She spat the word out. "I couldn't hold off against that."

"Mrs. Johnson, we're going to do everything we can to get your son out safe. To get everyone out safe, so he has another chance."

"They think it makes them men." Her hopeless eyes met Phoebe's. "The gangs, the drugs, the killing. They think it makes them men."

"I'm going to talk to him again now." Phoebe reached across the four-top, laid a hand briefly on Opal's. "All right?"

"You got any kids, miss?"

"Phoebe, and yes. I have a daughter. She's seven."

"Children rip the heart right out of you. And it lies there all bruised and battered, still beating for them. No matter what."

"Let's get him out safe." Phoebe started to make contact again, paused when Ricks rushed in.

"We've got Sagget in custody. Charges of possession-drugs and firearms. Took a gun from the apartment where he was hiding, matches the caliber of the weapon that shot Franklin Johnson. We'll run ballistics."

"Okay. This is good." Phoebe looked back into Opal's eyes. "This is very good. I'll need you to help me with this, Mrs. Johnson. The person who shot your son, who shot Charlie's brother, is under arrest. He's going to be punished. We need to convince Charlie that it's enough, for now it's enough, and he should come out. All right, now."

She called the liquor store. There was more fatigue than defiance in his voice now. Another good sign. "Razz, I have some good news."

"My brother wake up?"

"Your bother's condition hasn't changed and that means he hasn't gotten worse. He's strong, isn't he?"

"Nobody stronger."

"So that's good. I want to tell you that Clip's been taken into custody."

"You got that rat bastard motherfucker?"

"Don't you use that language to this lady!" Opal snapped the words. "Don't you speak that filth, you hear me."

"He put bullets in T-Bone. I'll call him what he is, to anybody."

Phoebe held up a hand, easing it downward before Opal could speak again. "Your mother's very upset, Razz. She's worried about you and T-Bone now. But I think we have a way to make this all right, for everyone. The police have charged Clip, and he's in jail right now. He-"

"You bring that sumbitch to me!"

"I know you want to see him. I can arrange that. If you put the gun down and come out, I'm going to arrange to have you taken to where he's being held. So you can see him behind bars."

"I want to see him in the ground. Gonna put him there."

"You sound tired, Razz. It's been a long day, for everyone. I want to tell you that they found a gun with Clip, the same kind of gun that shot your brother. They're running tests right now. If the tests show it was the one used to hurt your brother, they'll be charging him with attempted murder. Do you know how long he could be behind those bars? For years and years. Maybe the rest of his life. If my brother'd been hurt like this, I'd want the person responsible to pay for a long time. A very long time."

I "He'll burn in hell."

"I think Georgia State's a kind of hell, too. Razz, they told me he was hiding. Hiding. I wonder what his gang will think when they find out he was hiding away."

"You fucking with me?"

"I told you not to use that language! She's telling you the pure truth. I was right here, wasn't I right here when they came in and told her? That boy who shot your brother's in jail. Now come out of there, you hear?" Opal began to weep again. "Come out of there because I can't watch another boy of mine bleeding."

"Don't cry, Mama. I want to make him bleed, like T-Bone's bleeding."

"Prison's worse than bleeding," Phoebe said. "For a man like Clip?

And now he's got no face left, no rep. Proved himself a coward. A coward who'll spend years paying for what he did. Your mother needs you,

Razz. She needs you to put down the gun and come out. To show you're not a coward. You've got the balls to walk out of there."

"You'll take me to see that bastard? See him in the cage? That's a solid?"

"It is. My word on it."

"I'm going to jail, same as him. That's not right."

"Not the same as him, not the same at all. You haven't hurt anyone yet, Razz. Not a single soul. That makes all the difference. If you come out, just the way I tell you, that's going to make a difference, too."

"How do I come out?"

"You put the gun down." Phoebe gave the signal, making certain the surrender was relayed to Tactical. "You don't want to have a gun on you when you come out. All right?"

"You got guns out there?"

"Yeah, there are going to be guns out here. I don't want you to worry. You'll put your hands up, where everyone can see, and you walk straight out the front door. You come out by yourself, you're no coward, right? You come straight out the front, with your hands high in the air. Will you do that?"

"All right. I'm coming out. I'm hanging up."

"I'll see you outside, Razz."

Phoebe cut off the phone, stood. "Let's go get your boy." She took

Opal's arm and led her toward the door of the diner. "Listen now, they're going to have guns on him when he comes out. They're going to move on him, get him on the ground and cuff him. That has to be." Phoebe scanned some of the windows and rooftops, spotted Tactical. Until Razz was out and in custody, she couldn't risk taking his mother too close to the inner perimeter. "I need you to wait here with this officer for just a few minutes. I'm going to come back and get you, and I'm going to see that you're taken to where Charlie will be."

"Thank you, for everything you did. Thank you."

Phoebe moved quickly, angling so she'd have a view of the front of the liquor store. When she saw the door open, saw the boy step forward, hands high, she let out a long breath of relief.

The gunfire was a stunning blast. For an instant she simply froze, simply stared as Charlie's body jerked, danced, fell. She heard herself screaming as she rushed forward, as dozens of cops dove for cover. Someone shoved her down. With the breath knocked out of her she heard the screams from inside the store, and the shouts of: "Shots fired! Shots fired!" zinging around her.

It was beautiful! And so pathetically easy. All you had to do was slip and slide and know how to look like you belonged. Not so hard to find a good position, hold up, wait things out.

All that time she'd spent talking that asshole out. Wasted, wasn't it, bitch?

Stupid fucker deserved to die. Gangs were a blight on the city.

He could have put some bullets in her, too. Easy-peasy. But this was better. This accomplished something and kept it all rolling.

He hadn't known, really hadn't guessed, how much fun this would all be. Why end it too soon?

He'd left the gun, done some more slipping and sliding. Easy-peasy again, tucking the ID away, melting into the panicked crowd, then easing away in the confusion.

But not before he watched Phoebe scramble up, run toward the others at the door of the crap-shit liquor store and drop down beside the dead kid.

'Cause that kid was stone dead, and don't you mistake it.

Press was going to love this, he thought as he made his way west to where he'd left his car. Going to eat it up like Cheez Whiz on a cracker. Lieutenant Bitch MacNamara had talked the asshole out all right.

And straight into a hail of bullets.

He was going to pick himself up a six-pack and some takeout, go home. And watch the news.

When Phoebe got home she heard the voices in the parlor. Dinner long over, she thought. Dishes done and put away.

Coffee and brandy served in the parlor-the Wedgwood pot, the

Baccarat decanter and snifters.

All on loan from the tight-fisted estate of Elizabeth MacNamara. She wanted to go straight up the stairs, crawl into bed. Or under it. But it couldn't be done. Just one more thing that couldn't be done. So she walked to the doorway.

Carter was telling some story-she could tell by the way his hands were moving. He had such good stories. She knew he hoped to become a writer, and that he worked at it when he could. But teaching ate up most of his time.

Beside him Josie rolled her eyes, but she was laughing while she did. It was so sweet, the way they loved each other. Still so fresh and sweet.

There was Mama, looking so happy. Just peaceful and happy, her world full of people who made her so. And Ava perched on the arm of Mama's chair, sipping coffee from one of those lovely Wedgwood cups. Her little girl, sitting on the sofa beside Duncan. And oh my goodness, what was that look on Carly's face when she smiled up at him? Her baby was having her first crush by the looks of things.

And didn't he seem just right at home, Mr. Duncan Swift, sprawled back, all relaxed and easy, sending her little girl winks like the two of them were in on a big secret.

How many blocks from here was Hitch Street?

How could that distance have an entire world between them?

It was Duncan who saw her first. A quick light in his eyes, then an equally quick fade into concern. Was she so transparent?

He rose, came to her. "Are you all right?"

"No. I'm not hurt, but I'm not all right. I'm sorry I missed dinner," she said in a voice that carried into the room.

"Mama, we had the best time! And Duncan said... " Carly's words faded away as she dashed over. Phoebe saw her bright blue eyes latch on to the blood on her pants.

She'd had a spare shirt in her locker, but she'd had to come home with the blood-Charles Johnson's blood-on her pants.

"It's not mine. I'm not hurt, not at all. But I need such a hug from you right now. I need such a big, enormous Carly hug right this minute." She crouched and squeezed tight as Carly wrapped around her. She stayed crouched. She had her child tonight, right here, safe and sweet in her arms. Others didn't.

She leaned back, kissed both of Carly's cheeks. Then, straightening, she looked at her mother. Essie stood, face pale, hands linked tight. "Nothing happened to me, that's first. Look at me, Mama. Nothing happened to me. Nothing. All right?"

"All right."

"Carter, pour Mama some of that lemonade there. You sit down, Mama. I'm going to say I know you think I share too much of what I do, what there is, with Carly. I'm sorry we don't agree on the boundaries of that. Well. I think I could use something stronger than lemonade right off."

"I'm going to get you some wine, and some food." Ava walked to her, squeezed her arm. "You ought to sit down, too."

"I ought to. I will. I want to change these pants first. I'm going to be right back," she said to Carly.

Duncan glanced over ait Essie as Phoebe went out. "Essie, I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to go up with her."

He didn't wait for permission, but caught up to Phoebe on the steps.

"I'm just going to change my pants."

"I'm not looking to grab a quickie while you do. You look exhausted."

"It was a bad day. Very bad. I can't talk about it yet. I only want to talk about it once."

"I'm just going to be here, you don't have to talk."

In her room, she pulled out a pair of cotton pants. She stripped off the blood-smeared trousers, tossed them in the hamper. "Mama will likely perform some miracle of science and get that poor boy's blood out of those." She pressed her hand between her eyes as the grief swamped her. But before Duncan could take her into his arms, she stepped back, shook her head.

"No, no comforting hugs just yet. And no tears. If I have to cry, it'll wait until later. My mother's worried. She'll stay worried until I get back down."

"Let's go back, then."

He went down with her. Ava had already set a plate on a tray, had a glass of wine waiting.

"It'll be on the news," she began. "Probably has been. There was a situation over on Hitch Street. Gang-related. Hostages. The boy was sixteen. Just sixteen, grieving, so angry, so misguided. It took time to talk him down, but I did, I talked him down, and told him it would be all right. So he came out, just the way I told him. Unarmed, hands up high. And someone shot him. They shot him while he stood with his hands up, when he was surrendering. His mother was there, close enough I think she must have seen it happen."

"Is he going to be all right?" Carly asked.

"No, honey. He died." Before I got to him, Phoebe thought. "But why did they shoot him?"

"I don't know." She stroked Carly's hair, then bent down to kiss it.

"I just don't. We don't know why or who. Not yet. There'll be talk, on the TV about it. I wanted you-all of you-to know what happened."

"I wish it hadn't happened."

"Oh, baby, so do I."

Carly snuggled up. "You'll feel better if you eat. That's what you say."

"It is what I say." Deliberately she speared something on her plate.

It didn't matter what, she couldn't taste it. But she ate it with a little flourish. "And as usual, I'm right. Now, everybody should stop worrying and tell me what you did for fun tonight."

"Uncle Carter and Duncan played a duelette."

"A duelette?"

"That's what Uncle Carter called it. On the piano. That was fun. And Aunt Josie told the joke about the chicken."

"Not that again."

"I liked it." Duncan worked up a smile. He saw what she was doing, needed to do. Get everyone back to normal.

"And Duncan said you and me could go on his sailboat on Saturday if you said we could. So can we? Please? I've never been on a sailboat before. Ever."

"You're obviously a neglected and abused child. I suppose we probably could do that."

"Yes!"

"But right now it seems to be somewhat past someone's bedtime."

"But we have company."

"And a polite, self-sacrificing child, too. How'd I get so lucky? Now, say good night, and I'll be up in a couple minutes."

Carly dragged her feet all around the room, stalled, looked beseechingly toward the other adults for intervention. She circled her way around to Duncan, sighed heavily. "I wish I didn't have to go to bed, but thank you for coming to dinner."

"Thank you for having me. We've got a date on Saturday, right?" The sulks flew away. "Okay. 'Night."

The minute she was gone, Phoebe set down her fork. "I'd better get on." Duncan rose.

There were polite protests, mutual thanks, cheek kisses and handshakes. "I'll walk you out."

It felt so good to step outside, into the air. To take a breath of it. "I'm sorry I brought home something that tainted the evening."

"Don't think of it like that." He draped an arm around her shoulders as they walked down to his car. "Hard for you."

"It was awful." She indulged herself a moment, turning into him, holding on. "I don't know that I'll ever get it all the way out of my head. Maybe I shouldn't. I don't know how it could've happened. Some people are already saying it was us who did it. We're saying we suspect it was one of the members of the rival gang. We found the gun. AK-47. It wasn't one of ours. They riddled that boy. In seconds. One of the hostages inside was hit. He'll be okay, b u't... " She sucked in a breath, drew back. "That's not for here."

"It's for wherever you need it to be."

"I need to keep as much as I can away from here." She glanced back toward the house. "Whenever I can. So... about Saturday."

"I'll pick you and Carly up about ten. How's that?"

"It's nice of you to offer her such a treat. I don't want you to feel obliged to-"

"Don't." He tapped a finger to her lips. "Don't do that. And the fact is, you might as well know, if things don't work out with you and me, and Essie turns me down, I figure I can wait about, what, fifteen years, for the kid."

"Twenty. Minimum."

"Hard-ass." He tipped her face back. "Still, that oughta be some motivation for you, seeing I've got multiple choices here." He kissed her, long, very long, very soft.

"I'll see you Saturday."

"Saturday. I'll pack a few gallons of sunscreen for us redheads." She waved him off, stood there a while. And after a while walked over and sat on the front steps. She needed to go in, of course, needed to go tuck Carly into bed, keep an eye on Mama, just in case. But she sat awhile longer.

Carter came out. Saying nothing, he sat beside her, took her hand. Together, they sat awhile longer yet.