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By Root 707 0

and take out my keys to open the front door. I stop and look back at Jason. He’s carefully untying the bags, picking out the aluminum cans and retying the bags. I walk over to him and start looking through the piles. Jason looks at me resentfully but goes about his task undaunted. I toss aside several bags until I find the one that smells more like crap than the others. I open it up and pull out the jeans I shit in. It’s right there where I forgot it, stuffed in the back pocket, waiting for me to give it to Edwin to put in the safe, except I got drunk and forgot about it and all those people are dead because I couldn’t remember where it was. I take the key out of the envelope, put it in my pocket and let myself into my building, leaving Jason to his work.

My door has police tape sealed over the jamb, just like Russ’s. The cops must have been through here after they picked me up at Yvonne’s. I don’t want to cut the tape, so I go up to the roof. My laundry bag is still up there, so I take it with me down the fire escape. I have to climb over the rail again to get in the window. Once inside, I reach out and pull in the laundry.

The cops did a pretty good job on the place, but I don’t really care at this point. The light is blinking on my answering machine. Mom is there three times, but I don’t listen to any of her messages. I can’t. I sit on the couch and look at the key. It’s notched along both edges and the base is a big square of blue plastic with the number 413d cut into it. It’s for a storage locker. This is a key to a rented storage locker. I know because I keep stuff stored at one of the big warehouses on the West Side and have a pink key similar to this one right on my key ring. I sit there and stare straight ahead and suddenly realize what I’m staring at. It’s Bud’s carrying case. Bud is still in Roman’s car. Outside my door someone tears the police tape and starts picking the lock.

I get the aluminum bat from my closet and stand to the side of the door and wait. The lock snaps open, the knob turns and someone comes in.

It’s a man. I plant the bat in his gut and as he folds over I whip it up and clip him across the back of the head and he drops flat. I ram the door shut with my shoulder and lock it before anyone else can get in. No one tries. I look at the guy on the floor, shove my toe under him and flip him over. It’s Russ.

I tuck the bat under my arm and walk over to the sink. I take a big plastic cup from the dish rack. It’s an old souvenir cup from Candlestick Park. Willie Mays is on the side. I fill it with cold water, walk over to Russ and pour it out on his face. Some of it goes in his mouth and up his nose, making him choke, and that brings him around. He rolls onto his stomach and coughs and catches his breath. He reaches up and feels at the lump on his scalp where blood is slowly trickling out. He looks up and sees me for the first time.

—Hank! Oh, man, Hank! Good, good. Look, man, I need my cat.

I hit him with the bat until he’s unconscious again, but I stop before I kill him.

PART THREE

SEPTEMBER 29, 2000

Two Regular Season

Games Remaining

They’re talking about me on TV. A block away, NY1 and all the other local stations are live on the scene of the worst massacre in recent New York history and, from time to time, they replay the official police statement.

A cop in a fancy uniform with a lot of medals on his chest for catching criminals stands in front of Paul’s and reads from a piece of paper.

—This is. Excuse me, please, I have a statement and I will read it just once. This is a very preliminary statement. As of now, we know, we believe, that a short while ago a gun battle took place between the owner of Paul’s Bar and an unknown number of assailants who appear to have been attempting to rob the establishment. We have . . . we have seven confirmed dead, including one of the assailants. We are asking that anyone in this area who may have seen or heard anything suspicious in the early morning here to please contact us. We are . . . we are also seeking a former employee