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don't they?"
    "They trace them. I'd be nailed as an accessory."
    "Tell you what. Let's set up a throwaway phone just for voicemail. If the cops trace it they can't connect it to anybody. It'll be like our safe phone for each other."
    "That might be okay." She looks at the darkening sea. "Ever thought you might kill somebody who… you know… didn't do it?
    "An innocent person?"
    "Mmm hmm."
    "Couldn't happen."
    I get the arched eyebrow in response.
    "Research. Fact checking. Due diligence. I'm not a psycho, I'm a vigilante. Tracking people down who need to pay for murder. It's a worthy cause."
    She cogitates on that and says simply, "You don't hit women, I know that."
    "Innocent people either. That's for barbarians."
    "You're a strange man."
    I get a kiss. It lasts until Sid barges between us, jealous monkey.
    We watch the lights of the pier, go home to make love our style, and fall asleep.
    ***
    I wake up from the dream, dripping flop sweat. But it's not a dream, it's a remembrance. It really happened. Cinda sleeps beside me, her brunette hair waving over her face, the pillow. Sid sits on his haunches at the end of the bed, watching me with eyes dark and glittering. He recognizes the dream. He can't know, but he knows anyway.
    Knott's Berry Farm, California. Me, my wife and our daughter are returning from brunch at the IHOP. If you're seven years old, it's the only place to eat. Nothing else will do, according to our Heidi. I decide to skip the parking ordeal at Knott's main entrance, and use the smaller lot around the corner, on Western.
    We stroll to the crosswalk, two lanes on each side, not much traffic. On the other side of the street, beyond the bright yellow entrance buildings, the Pony Express roller coaster goes by. Wheee! Loop-de-looping to the sky, the Xcelerator beckons in lurid pink. Heidi tugs on my arm. "Snot's Hairy Farm!" she shouts. My wife laughs, right behind us.
    From the corner of my eye, a black BMW comes toward us. Fast. Can't he see it's a crosswalk? "GET IN FRONT OF THEM," the father in my head commands."This is really going to hurt," the self-preserving force in me answers. I lunge in front anyway, the BMW plows through, throwing my daughter onto the sidewalk, leaving my wife unharmed. I'm caught on the hood. Tires smoking, the Beemer carries me down the block until he gets the bright idea to slam on the brakes. I hit the pavement, plop, and he guns over top of me, shattering my neck, crushing my left arm and feet, and squashing my large intestine to mush. I curl in the street, breathing the white-smoke exhaust from a fishtail getaway .
    My wife and child lie together on the sidewalk as people run to help, a dozen cell phones dialing 911. Too late. My wife holds our child as she slips away. On the sidewalk. Snot's Hairy Farm. Under the smiling California sun as riders scream with delight. My Heidi slips away.
    The dream fades as Cinda's pager beeps on the bedside table. Sid grabs it and hands it to her.
    "It's a regular," she yawns. "He's worth two hundred, I better go."

Chapter Seven

    Hurtling back down the freeway, Doug picks his cell phone up on the first blip. It's Claire, her voice a tinny rasp coming through the tiny speakerphone. "Coroner's ready to autopsy Hector Stamos and Juan Doe."
    "I'm about twenty minutes away." Ahead, traffic comes to a standstill and the nearest off-ramp that could have saved him whizzes by. "Scratch that. I was twenty minutes away. I'll be there as soon as the traffic clears."
    "Don't worry, I'll give you a full narrative when you make it."
    Doug flips on the MP3 with Miles Davis and John Coltrane Kind of Blue . Music so chill it put nervous adrenaline in the deep freeze. Good music for refection. His mind drifts over images of the past...
    Unlike a lot of law-enforcement types, Doug never wanted to be anything but an officer of the law. The Sheriff's Department is the natural segue for lots of wannabe firefighters, and they see it as a comedown. For every