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door of the van slid an inch and I jumped at it and rammed it shut with my shoulder on someone’s hand, someone yelled in pain, something clattered on the street. I kept my back against the door and came up with the Browning and leveled it sort of inclusively at the group. Hawk had a left handful of John Porter’s hair. He held John Porter’s head down in front of him, and with his right hand, pressed the muzzle of a Sig Sauer automatic into John Porter’s left ear. Jackie had dropped flat to the pavement and was trying with her left hand to smooth her skirt down over her backside, while her right hand pushed the tape recorder as far forward toward the action as she could.
    Somewhere on the other side of McCrory Street a couple of birds chirped. Inside the truck someone was grunting with pain. I could feel him struggle to get his arm out of the door. A couple of gang members were frozen in midreach toward inside pockets or under jackets.
    “Now this time,” Hawk was saying, “we all going to walk away from this.”
    No one moved. Major stood with no expression on his face, as if he were watching an event that didn’t interest him.
    “Next time some of you will be gone for good,” Hawk said. “Spenser, bring him out of the truck.”
    I kept my eyes on the gang and slid my back off the door. It swung open and a small quick-looking kid no more than fourteen, in a black Adidas sweatsuit, came out clutching his right wrist against him. In the gutter by the curb, below the open door, was an automatic pistol. I picked it up and stuck it in my belt.
    “You all walk away from here, now,” Hawk said. No one moved.
    “Do what I say,” Hawk said. There was no anger in his voice. Hawk pursed his lips as he looked at the gang members standing stolidly in place. Behind him Jackie was on her feet again, her tape recorder still running, some sand clinging to the front of her dress.
    Hawk smiled suddenly. “Sure,” he said.
    He looked at me.
    “They won’t leave without him,” Hawk said.
    I nodded. Hawk released his grip on John Porter’s hair and Porter straightened. He walked away from Hawk with his head down.
    “You fucked yourself,” Major said without any particular emotion. “You dead, motherfucker.”
    “Not likely,” Hawk said.
    Major stood silently for a moment, looking at Hawk, then he looked at me.
    “Enjoy yourself, slut,” he said to Jackie. And his face broke into a wide smile.
    Then he turned and nodded at the gang. They followed him, and in a moment they were gone and all there was, was the two birds across the street, chirping.

CHAPTER I3
    We were back in Hawk’s car. Jackie in back this time, Hawk and I in the front seat. Both of us had shotguns.
    “Would you like to reprise all of that for me?” Jackie said.
    “Kid’s playing a game,” Hawk said.
    “The leader? Major?”
    “Un huh.”
    “Well, could you explain the game?”
    Hawk grinned back at her over his shoulder. “Un uh,” he said.
    “Well, I mean, is it turf?” Jackie said.
    “Sure it’s turf, but it’s more,” Hawk said.
    “I didn’t even understand half what he was saying,” Jackie said.
    “Gangs have their own talk,” Hawk said.
    “You didn’t understand it either,” Jackie said.
    “Not all of it. Got the drift though.”
    “I wonder if he’s trying to see how you’ll act?” I said to Hawk.
    “He’s heard of me?” Hawk said.
    Hawk considered everything genuinely. He had almost no assumptions.
    “Maybe,” I said. I looked at Jackie. “I don’t want to hear any of this on The Marge Eagen Show. ”
    “No,” Jackie said. “Unless I warn you, it’s background only. Okay?”
    I nodded.
    “Maybe Major has heard of you. Maybe you are a kind of ghetto legend, like Connie Hawkins was on the New York playgrounds, say, for different reasons…”
    “Who’s Connie Hawkins?” Jackie said.
    “Basketball player,” Hawk said. He kept his eyes on me. “Yeah?”
    “So maybe Major wants to learn,” I said.