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The look on Carlucci’s face was a mix of shock and anger. Stein grabbed him by the shoulder and ushered him toward the exit.

When the camera cut to the city council members, Willie Lane appeared to be holding back a thin smile.

So, Payne thought, a heavy dose of karma for Hizzoner.

How’s that working out for you, Jerry?

Maybe it is a good thing I’m getting forced out of here . . .

Payne’s phone vibrated, and he gl

anced at it.

“Matt Payne,” he said.

“Matt, Mason Morgan just had a heart attack,” Aimee Wolter said, her usual upbeat voice now a monotone.

“That’s impossible,” Payne heard himself reply with the first thing that popped to mind. “You have to have a heart for that to happen.”

He saw that that crack had gotten the attention of the others in the office.

“Wiseass,” Wolter said. “But I take your point . . .”

“Was it adequate?” he went on.

“What do you mean, adequate?”

“Everyone’s always saying, ‘So-and-so died today of a massive heart attack,’ when it really just takes an adequate one . . .”

There were chuckles around the room.

“Dead is dead,” Payne finished. “But, then again, Mason is himself rather massive.”

Payne noticed that Harris had turned his head at hearing Mason Morgan had had a massive heart attack.

“Jesus, Matt, who pissed in your coffee?” Aimee snapped. “He’s not dead. He’s having emergency surgery at Hahnemann. I think stents, to open some blockage.” She sighed. “Look, I need you to come to my office. Michael Grosse is here. He said you wanted to talk. And you damn sure need to hear what he has to say.”

“Sure. Be right there.”

[ TWO ]

House of Ming Condominiums

Ninth and Vine Streets

Chinatown

Philadelphia

Saturday, January 7, 12:55 P.M.

“Call me when you get this damn message, Willie,” John Austin barked into his cellular telephone as he raced up Ninth in the Tahoe. “I don’t care about your public appearances. Something’s going down. I got a text message that there’s been an emergency at the Ming Condo site. Call me.”

Austin broke off that call, then sneezed twice as he tried the project manager’s number again.

“Damn it! No answer!” he said, sniffling and rubbing his nose.

He turned off Ninth onto the crushed-stone-drive entrance, tires crunching as he pulled through the open double-door gates.