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“Nobody will bother you with me around, Michael.”

The boy shook his head vigorously.

Well, he must’ve really gotten his ass kicked.

No surprise. Law of the jungle is to prey on the weak.

“Michael, listen to me. This envelope is very important. I’m sure your uncle would really want to have it.”

Curtis pointed to the minivan.

“You want to ride in my new delivery vehicle? You show me where he lives, we’ll give him the envelope, then I’ll bring you back here.”

The boy jerked his head to look across the street. His eyes grew wide. Then he turned back to Curtis and nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah, muthafucka! I ride to LeRoi! I tired of drawing.”

[TWO]

Executive Command Center The Roundhouse Eighth and Race Streets, Philadelphia Sunday, November 1, 4:29 P.M.

“Okay,” Matt Payne said, rubbing his eyes, “let’s bring up the last one, Kendrik Mays. Not that it’s likely we’ll find anything new on him yet. But in the spirit of leaving no stone under the stone unturned . . .”

Matt felt a brief vibration in his front pants pocket, and he reached in and pulled out his cell phone.

He looked at the screen. It read: “(2) TEXT MESSAGES FROM AMANDA LAW.”

“Oh, shit!” he said aloud. Then he thought, Two? I never felt the damn phone vibrate before.

As he started thumbing the phone to read the texts, he saw the signal-strength icon.

Not even one goddamn nanobit or -byte or whatever of signal!

He looked at Kerry Rapier and said, “Is it just me, or is the cell service in here worthless?”

“Just you, Marshal,” Rapier said with a straight face.

Harris snorted, then said, “My signal reception’s lousy, too, Matt.”

Payne eyed Rapier, who smiled back.

“Seriously,” Rapier then added, “it’s ironic that we have some four million bucks’ worth of high-tech commo equipment in here but, except for over there by the window, we can’t get decent cell service.” He paused, then added: “If it’s any consolation—as in, misery loves company—I heard the top guy at AT&T couldn’t get a signal in his Hops Haus Tower penthouse. So he personally ordered that a cellular antenna be added on the roof of the building—and he still couldn’t get a reliable connection!”

Payne shook his head.

“Gotta love technology,” he said, his eyes falling to his phone’s screen. The text message, which had a time stamp of 2:45 P.M., read: AMANDA LAW

HEY, BABY!

SORRY FOR THE TONE OF MY LAST MESSAGE.

I KNOW YOU HAVE A JOB TO DO. I WAS JUST CAUGHT OFF GUARD BY THE MAYOR’S ANNOUNCEMENT.

I HOPE YOUR SILENCE IS BECAUSE YOU’RE BUSY—NOT BECAUSE YOU’RE UPSET WITH ME.

XOXO -A

Payne felt his throat tighten.