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their windows; watched the first television news truck pull up at the end of the street where the police stopped it.
    Jason Belding had a perfect view. He considered calling in and canceling his morning appointments, but he quickly abandoned the idea. It wasn’t the loss of money. That was no problem. People were counting on him. He had a successful pedodontics practice with offices both downtown in Chicago and in the Laurel Plaza Office Center in Wilmette, and he had never missed a day of work in his life.
    The doorbell rang.
    Jason was not surprised. It was early, but the Traneks or Hurlbets would be up and frightened. They would, when they thought it was a reasonable hour, knock at his door, ask him, as the only professional in the building, what was going on. They would seek his advice and comfort and Dr. Jason Belding, who had spent the last twelve years of his life tricking children into opening their reluctant mouths, would reassure them.
    Belding walked across the recently cleaned white carpet and opened the door. The man in front of him was big. Jason considered slamming the door, but the man was holding his wallet open and showing a large silver badge.
    â€œPolice,” said Hanrahan.
    â€œWhat can I do for you, Officer?”
    Hanrahan stepped past the dentist and into the apartment. Jason Belding had to balance and juggle to keep from spilling his tea.
    â€œYou can go on vacation for a few days,” said Hanrahan looking around and moving to the window.
    The place was too neat and tidy to suit him, but it would do.
    â€œI don’t …,” Belding began.
    â€œUnder City Ordinance 234 the city of Chicago Police Department is commandeering your apartment for the duration of this emergency.”
    Hanrahan stepped back in front of the confused Belding.
    â€œYou will be compensated for your inconvenience. Lives are at stake and your cooperation will be appreciated. You will be sent a letter of thanks from the mayor. Just pack a couple of things and call us tomorrow.”
    Belding reached over to the still-open door to close it, but a pair of uniformed police carrying equipment and a large bag from Wendy’s brushed past him.
    â€œI’m a dentist,” Belding called to Hanrahan, who stood looking out the window.
    â€œThat’s okay,” said Hanrahan as the police began to set up equipment. “I had all mine pulled two years ago. Harris, when you get that set up, will you help the good doctor pack his things?”
    The first light of sun shimmered far out on Lake Michigan. Lieberman stood watching from his car parked at the end of the street a block north of Fargo. It was early, but Bess was probably up and he had no idea when he’d get another chance to call. He pulled out his cellular phone and dialed home. If she didn’t answer on the second ring, he would hang up and try again later.
    Bess answered before the second ring.
    â€œHello.”
    â€œIt’s me.”
    â€œYou’re all right?”
    â€œOf course I’m all right,” he said. “Don’t I sound all right?”
    â€œYou could be pretending. Wait, I’m not awake. What time is it?”
    â€œAlmost five,” he said. “I got a call. You remember Bernie Shepard?”
    â€œBernie …”
    â€œWe went to his wedding four, five years ago.”
    â€œI remember.”
    â€œHe shot his wife and another cop.”
    â€œI appreciate your waking me up to tell me.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” Lieberman said, “but I don’t know when I’ll be home. Shepard’s got himself barricaded on his apartment roof.”
    Somewhere in the distance from the south, toward downtown, Lieberman thought he heard a humming sound.
    â€œThank God he’s not Jewish,” sighed Bess.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said. “I’m still waking up. Did you make coffee? No, the kids. It’s just if he were Jewish, the