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around. The alley was away from traffic, and quiet. There were some wooden boxes separating a pink stucco apartment building full of Latin American aliens and an auto parts warehouse, which had more alarms, barbed wire and steel bars around it than Folsom Prison. Aside from the wooden boxes and the derelict remains of a bicycle, there was nothing else in the alley.
    “I saw this,” the monster cop said.
    Tucked behind a peeling metal downspout was a twenty-foot length of rope which someone had tied over the bottom step of a fire escape that was held in place at the second floor by a rusty cable. All business, The Bad Czech began fashioning a noose with the oily length of rope.
    Cecil Higgins and Elmo McVey looked quizzically at each other, and Elmo McVey giggled uncomfortably and said, “I thought capital punishment was abolished in this state.”
    “They brought it back,” Cecil Higgins said. “But they ain’t used it in a long long time.” Then to his partner: “Hey, Czech, what the fuck’re you do-in?”
    “I told him a thousand times to take his act on the road. Down to Main Street,” The Bad Czech said, cinching up the noose, checking the snugness of the knot as it slid down to the size of a thirteen-inch neck. Then he opened the noose wide and left it dangling there from the fire escape while he crossed the alley in three giant steps and picked up a wooden box.
    “This ain’t much of a scaffold,” The Bad Czech said, “but it’s all we got.” He placed the wooden box under the noose and said, “I asked you a thousand times to …”
    “Ain’t this gone far enough?” Elmo McVey whined nervously. He wisely decided to talk to the black cop, who, though an evil looking old nigger, was nevertheless more agreeable to Elmo McVey than the gigantic madman with the eyebrows all over his face.
    “Hey, Czech, let’s go git some soul food,” Cecil Higgins offered, also sounding a bit nervous. “Little gumbo cleans up a hangover in no …”
    But suddenly The Bad Czech lifted the mangy wino up on the box until he stood eye to badge with the beat cop’s silver hat-piece. Then The Bad Czech grabbed the squirming wino under the throat, quickly slipped the noose over his head and cinched it tight. The monster cop stepped back and reckoned that the wino’s feet would never come closer than twelve inches to the ground.
    “Boys, this is some kind a fun,” Elmo McVey giggled, grabbing at the rope. “I mean, I been rousted by cops from Manhattan to Malibu. I learned to appreciate the weird sense a humor a you guys. Now kin we jist wrap this up and take me to the slam or… or …” Then for the first time he looked deep into the demented gray eyes of The Bad Czech. “Or … or beat the crap outa me! Or do somethin reasonable!”
    “Let’s go git some gumbo, Czech,” Cecil Higgins said. “Now!”
    “Fuck it. How do ya know Elmo’s real, anyways?” The Bad Czech said.
    And he kicked the box clear across the alley.
    When Elmo McVey dropped, so did the fire escape. The rusty cable holding it up snapped with the wino’s weight and both the fire escape and Elmo McVey crashed down in the alley. The fire escape nearly creamed Cecil Higgins, who yelped and jumped into a doorway. It missed The Bad Czech by less than a foot but he didn’t seem to notice.
    “Aw shit!” The Bad Czech said. “Let’s tie it to the railing and try it again.”
    But by now Cecil Higgins was prying the rope from Elmo McVey, who was gasping and squeaking and about the color of the cops’ uniform.
    “He … he …” Elmo McVey croaked and coughed and babbled and touched the rope burn and took several gulps of air and finally said, “He lynched me!”
    “Take it easy, Elmo,” Cecil Higgins said, dusting off the wino’s army-surplus jacket. “Don’t make a big deal outa it.”
    “He ‘ fried to hang me!” Elmo McVey screamed hoarsely as The Bad Czech worked silently to redo the noose and find a better gallows.
    “Elmo, I