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hell, man. I’m sorry this happened.”
    Scott didn’t know what to say. He finally shrugged.
    Orso said, “I want you to stay in touch. Anything else you remember, call me. Doesn’t matter if you think it’s important or not. Don’t worry about sounding silly or stupid, okay? I want everything you’ve got.”
    Scott nodded. He glanced at the papers spread over the table and the files in the box. It was a larger box and contained more than Scott would have expected, considering the little Melon shared.
    Scott studied the box for a moment, then looked back at Orso.
    “Could I read through the file?”
    Orso followed Scott’s eyes to the box.
    “You want to go through the file?”
    “One memory triggers another. Maybe I’ll see something that helps me remember other things.”
    Orso considered for a moment, then nodded.
    “Not now, but sure. If that’s what you want. You’ll have to go through it here, but I’m fine with letting you see it. Call in the next couple of days, and we’ll set up a time.”
    Orso stood, and when Scott stood with him, Orso saw his grimace.
    “You doing okay?”
    “That’s scar tissue loosening up. The docs say it’ll take about a year for the stiffness to pass.”
    The same bullshit he told everyone.
    Orso said nothing more until they reached the hall and were heading toward the elevator. Then his eyes hardened again.
    “One other thing. I’m not Melon. He felt bad for you, but he thought you became a crazy pain in the ass who should’ve been pushed out on a psycho. You probably think he was a lousy detective. You were both wrong. Whatever you think, those guys busted their asses, but sometimes you can bust your ass and nothing turns up. It sucks, but sometimes that happens.”
    Scott opened his mouth to say something, but Orso raised a hand, stopping him.
    “No one here quits. I’m not going to quit. I’m going to live out this case one way or another. Are we clear?”
    Scott nodded.
    “My door is open. Call if you want, but if you call sixteen times a day, I’m not going to return sixteen calls. We clear on that, too?”
    “I’m not going to call you sixteen times.”
    “But if I call
you
sixteen times, you damn well better get back to me asap each and every time, because I will have questions that need answers.”
    “I’ll move in and live with you if it means catching these bastards.”
    Orso smiled, and looked like the scoutmaster again.
    “You won’t have to live with me, but we will catch them.”
    They said their good-byes at the elevator. Scott waited until Orso returned to his office, then gimped to the men’s room. His limp was pronounced when no one was watching.
    The pain was so bad he thought he would vomit.
    He splashed cold water on his face, and rubbed his temples and eyes. He dried himself, then took two Vicodin from a small plastic bag, swallowed them, then rubbed his face with cold water again.
    He patted himself dry, then studied himself in the mirror while he let the pills work. He was fifteen pounds thinner than the night he was shot, and half an inch shorter because of the leg. He was lined, and looked older, and wondered what Stephanie would think if she saw him.
    He was thinking about Stephanie when a uniformed officer shoved open the door. The officer was young and in a hurry, so he shoved the door hard. Scott lurched sideways, away from the noise, and spun toward the officer. His heart pounded as if trying to beat its way out of his chest, his face tingled as his blood pressure spiked, and his breath caught in his chest. He stood motionless, staring, as his pulse thundered in his ears.
    The young officer said, “Dude, hey, I’m sorry I scared you. I have to pee.”
    He hurried to the urinal.
    Scott stared at his back, then clenched his eyes shut. He clenched his eyes hard, but he could not shut out what he was seeing. He saw the masked man with a large belly coming toward him with the AK-47. He saw the man in his dreams, and when he was