Lee's knee. Another scream. Blood spurted. The third bullet came so fast Billy Lee didn't have time to hit the floor. His head flew back from the impact, his legs splaying in midair. Billy Lee dropped out of sight like something at a shooting gallery.

The room was still

Myron pulled the rope the rest of the way off and rolled into a corner.

"Win?" he shouted.

No answer.

"Win?"

Nothing.

Pat and Billy Lee did not so much as twitch. Myron stood, the only sound his own breath. Blood. Everywhere blood. They had to be dead. Myron pressed back into the corner. Someone was watching him. He knew that now. He crossed the room and looked out a window. He looked left. Nothing. He looked right.

Someone stood in the shadows. A silhouette. Fear engulfed Myron. The silhouette seemed to hover and then vanished into the darkness. Myron spun around and found the doorknob. He threw the door open and began to run.
Chapter 26
He vomited three blocks away. He pulled up, leaned against a building, and puked his guts out. Several homeless men stopped and applauded. Myron gave a wave, acknowledging his fans. Welcome to New York.

Myron tried his cell phone, but it'd been crushed in the melee. He found a street sign and saw that he was only ten blocks south of the Biker Wannabee bar, in the meatpacking district near the West Side Highway. He jogged, holding his side, trying to stop the blood flow. He located a working pay phone, a feat that in this section of Manhattan normally involved a burning bush, and dialed Win's cellular.

Win picked up on the first ring. "Articulate."

"They're dead," Myron said. "Both of them."

"Explain."

Myron did.

When he finished, Win said, "Til be there in three minutes."

"I have to call the cops."

"Unwise."

"Why?"

"They will not believe your tale of woe," Win said, "especially the part about a mystery savior."

"Meaning they'll think you killed them?"

"Precisely."

Win had a point.

"But we'd be able to clear it up," Myron said.

"Yes perhaps, eventually. But it would take serious time."

"Time we don't have."

"Then you understand."

Myron thought about it. "But witnesses saw me leave the bar with Pat."

"So?"

"So the police will question people. They'll learn about that. They'll be able to place me at the scene."

"No more."

"What?"

"On the phone. No more discussion. I'll be there in three minutes."

"What about Zorra? What did you do to him?"

But Win was already off the line. Myron hung up the phone. A new set of homeless guys eyed him like he was a dropped sandwich. Myron met their gaze and did not look away until they did. He was not in the mood to be afraid anymore tonight.

A car pulled up in the promised three minutes. A Chevy Nova. Win had a collection of them-all old, all very used, all untraceable. Disposable cars, he called them. Win liked to use them for certain night activities. Don't ask.

The front passenger door opened. Myron glanced inside and saw Win behind the wheel. Myron slid in next to him.

"The die is cast," Win said.

"What?"

"The police are already at the scene. It was on the scanner."

Bad news. "I can still come forward."

"Yes, of course. And why, Mr. Bolitar, did you not call the police? Why, in fact, did you call your friend before the proper authorities? Are you or are you not suspected of aiding Ms. Esperanza Diaz in the murder of Billy Lee Palms's oldest friend? What exactly were you doing in that bar in the first place? Why would Mr. Palms want to kill you?"

"It can all be explained."

Win shrugged. "Your call."

"Just as it was my call to go alone with Pat."

"Yes."

"Which I called wrong."

"Yes. You were too vulnerable going in like that. There were other ways."

"What other ways?"

"We could have grabbed Pat at another time and made him tell us."

"Made him?"

"Yes."

"You mean, rough him up? Or torture him?"

"Yes."

"I don't do that."

"Grow up," Win said. "It is a simple cost-benefit analysis: By causing temporary discomfort to a malfeasant, you greatly lower the risk of being killed. It's a no-brainer." Win glanced at him. "By the way, you look like hell."

"You should see the other guy," he said. Then: "Did you kill Zorra?"

Win smiled. "You know me better than that."

"No, Win, I don't. Did you kill him?"

Win pulled up to the Biker Wannabee bar. He put the car in park. "Take a look inside."

"Why are we back here?"

"Two reasons. One, you never left."

"I didn't?"

"That's what I'll swear to. You were here all night. You just walked Pat out for a moment. Thrill will back me