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in size. I flashed back to the loud pops, and the white, and the black. I closed my eyes to make them go away. “Jesus, Ally. How’d you find out?” I realized too late I should have called her myself. “Your editor call? Someone else from the paper?”
    “Rachel. She called me while she was waiting to pick up your breakfast. She said you had a friend here with you.”
    “I wouldn’t exactly call Jack a friend. Guy I used to work with at the nine-oh. We … haven’t seen each other for a couple of years. He’s a PI now and was having Ricky Torres help him out with some local jobs.”
    “Ricky was working for a private investigator and ends up being shot? I hope you asked the obvious questions, Ray.”
    “Of course. And the cops will ask him again, but he couldn’t make any immediate connection. Ricky was doing routine incident reports and…”
    “And what?”
    “And now with the other cab shooting…”
    “Yeah,” she said. “That’s what I was doing before I got here. I was down on the waterfront in Long Island City talking with the cops and some locals. No one saw a thing. Just like in your case. Jack doesn’t think there’s more to Ricky’s case than the other?”
    I paused before answering. “Not really.”
    “I don’t know what that means, Ray.”
    I reminded myself my girlfriend’s a reporter. “Jack said Ricky was asking around about another case, but he didn’t go into details. Something about client/PI confidentiality, but he didn’t see a connection there, either.”
    “You trust this … not-exactly-a-friend guy?”
    Good question. “I don’t think he had any reason to lie to me. Maybe he’ll think of something when he talks to the detectives.”
    Allison thought about that and nodded. “You know,” she said, “the media is gonna make a big deal out of this. We’re still looking into the background of the other victim, but Ricky was an ex-cop and Middle East vet, shot and killed on the mean streets of Brooklyn that aren’t supposed to be this mean anymore.”
    I sat up a little more. “By the media, I guess you mean your paper?”
    “And the others,” she replied, trying not to get defensive. “And local TV.” She looked over at my landline. “They’re going to want to hear from you. Anybody call yet?”
    “Not that I know of. Maybe when I was napping, but I haven’t given an official statement yet. Maybe they don’t even know I was there.”
    “Someone does, and the others won’t be far behind. How’d they let you out of the hospital without—” She caught on quickly. “Your uncle.”
    “Yep. He’s even arranged it so that he’s the one who’ll take my statement.”
    “He can do that?”
    “He’s Chief Donne.” I looked over at the clock on my cable box. “And he’s coming over in a few hours. Can you stay for dinner?”
    “Until I can’t.” She stood, walked over to the window, and looked out. After a while, she turned back. “I’m kind of on call at the paper.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “It means,” she began, “when a big story breaks and they have to put a lot of reporters on it, we all have to pitch in and work overtime to cover the regular stuff that happens in the five boroughs.”
    “Don’t they have freelancers for that?”
    “Yeah, Ray. And little boys and girls still deliver the newspaper by bike early in the morning before Dad leaves for work.” She rubbed her eyes. “They’re not even paying us for doing this, but we can’t complain. I get one more speech about how lucky I am to have a job in the print media, I’ll wring my editor’s neck.”
    “Which,” I leaned forward into a sitting position, “ would be a big story and would result in more work for your coworkers.”
    Allison laughed, which did more good for me than any pill.
    “Yeah. They’d forgive me for killing the boss. Probably even take up a collection for my defense. But fuck with their off time? That would incur their wrath.”
    She came back to