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Before I realized
    it, I was sucked from the house onto the spook-express. I’m not
    sure what happens when I’m pulled from here and sent to
    there—wherever “there” ends up being. I seemed to go into time-
    out. Sort of like when kids are bad. It was “time-out” and off to
    their rooms. For me, it was an empty, dark place where I was
    very, very alone. This time, however, it was momentary and
    when the light surrounded me again, I was standing next to
    Bear’s cruiser.
    He was nowhere around.
    I recognized the parking lot of the “Shenandoah View Fair-
    ways” golf club. It was ten in the morning and a chil y fall day.
    There were about five cars in the lot. Since Bear didn’t play golf, he was up to something.
    What?
    I found him standing beneath a rain shelter along some trees
    three fairways away. He was arguing with a large man beside
    him. The man seemed familiar but I couldn’t place him. His face
    was round and puffy and he was built more for Greco-Roman
    wrestling than golf. He had powerful, burly arms, and his bulky
    38
    body was stuffed into golf slacks and a sweater—his girth exceed-
    ing his belt in the front. His features were tinted with a dark,
    Mediterranean complexion. His hair was black and his eyes
    shadowed by a thick, perpetual eyebrow. He reminded me of an
    old movie thug collecting overdue debts. What a guy—part wres-
    tler, part bagman.
    Bear jabbed a finger at Mr. Sumo. “I told you to drop that. I
    don’t want to hear that shit again.”
    “Sure, sure, Bear,” Mr. Sumo said. “Whatever you say. But, lis-
    ten, I’m just saying what’s on the street.”
    “Forget rumors. I want your boss. I want him now.”
    Mr. Sumo threw up his hands. “Fagget it. You know the rules.
    I don’t give him up like that.”
    “I want him. I need something to take the edge off. Funerals
    make me grouchy and I got a big one coming.”
    “He’s clean on that. I swear.”
    “I don’t give a shit.”
    “No, listen. The Man ain’t gonna whack no cop. Especially
    one snoopin’ around him already. You nuts?”
    “Did I mention Tuck? I’m talking about the other one.”
    “Him? No way, man.” Mr. Sumo looked around the fairway.
    “The Man’s worried you cops are thinkin’ that. He’s clean. Clean
    on both. He’s retired, for Christ’s sake.”
    Bear laughed. “Bul shit. Guys like him never retire.”
    “Listen, please.” Mr. Sumo pointed a finger at him and
    squinted. “You gotta be careful. The Man ain’t playin’ around,
    Bear. He’s retired but he ain’t dead.”
    “Meaning?”
    39
    I stood there, listening and watching. Frustration set in—who
    was this guy? His face was a nagging, deliberate memory trying
    to form in my head. It was there just out of reach. The conversa-
    tion wasn’t helping either. Faces and questions with no names.
    Another murder—the other murder? Damn, damn, damn.
    “Look, Bear, I got somethin’ else.”
    “What?”
    “The Man says someone is runnin’ stuff around here without
    his blessin’. He’s pissed. I heard him talkin’ to New York. A
    Heavy’s in town and the Man don’t like it. He told them this town
    is off-limits. Ya know, he gotta live here.”
    “Who’s the Heavy? What’s he here for?”
    “Dunno. Could be about Tuck.” Mr. Sumo leaned closer to
    Bear and poked the air. “Like I told you, Bear, street sees things different. You know, like maybe you and the lady professor did
    him—or got someone to do it for her. Maybe the Heavy.”
    Bear knocked away the man’s finger, grabbed his shirt, and
    slammed him back against the rain shelter wal . “You bastard. I
    told you to drop that. Who’s talking that shit?”
    “People, just people. Don’t go bitin’ the hand that feeds you. I
    never said it—but it’s out there. Somebody’s diggin’ around on
    that, too. Somebody wants your ass, paesano .”
    “Digging around?”
    “Yeah, digging around on the lady professor and you, Bear.
    Now settle down. I’m