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But Terry held his hand as they walked from where he finally found an empty slot, which he decided was more than enough compensation for the inconvenience.

At dinner, he found himself seated beside Casimir Bolinski, Esq., and across from Michael J. O'Hara, who, sensing they had an appreciative audience in Terry Davis, entertained her with stories of their time at West Catholic High School.

The cardinal had not come to La Famiglia, but Monsignor Schneider was there, sitting beside Stan Colt.

More than once, during a meal that began with an enormous antipasto and ended with spumoni onto which a shot of Amaretto had been poured, Miss Davis's knee brushed against Matt's. Often enough to allow himself to think it wasn't entirely accidental.

And there was another indication of good things to come at the first of the two goodnight and farewell sessions. The first was held inside the restaurant.

"You're just going to have to come to the coast, Matt," Stan Colt said. "You make him come, Terry."

"I will," Terry had said, and squeezed his arm again.

Matt was surprised when they actually left the restaurant that the Classic Livery body wagon with darkened windows wasn't waiting on the sidewalk for Colt and party, but then he saw Sergeant Nevins and half a dozen men he knew to be detectives discreetly lining the path to the parking lot.

When they got there, Matt saw that the body wagon, Mickey O'Hara's Buick Rendezvous, a black Oldsmobile, and three unmarked cars were in the spaces that had been blocked off by the red lane markers.

There was a second goodnight and farewell session there. Monsignor Schneider seemed reluctant to say good night, making Matt wonder how deep the cleric had gone into the wine.

But finally everybody was loaded into the vehicles, and they left. Terry took Matt's hand again and then leaned against him, suggesting an arm around her shoulders would not be unwelcome. They walked through the parking lot toward the Porsche.

The only problem now seemed where to go:

My apartment's a dump to begin with, and a mess after that quick shower and jump into the dinner jacket. And there's probably something, hair, lipstick on a towel, whatever, that'll give away that Olivia--screw her!--has been there.

Terry's staying at the Ritz-Carlton, but if we go there, she may not want them to know I went to her room, and it will be a brief kiss and I had a lovely time.

Can I suggest another hotel?

Screw it. The apartment it is.

He opened the door to the Porsche for her, then got in and started the engine. He saw that the parking slot in front of him was empty.

If there's not a concrete block in the way, I can just drive through.

There was not and he did.

He turned left--the only entrance/exit was where he came in, and he would have to drive to the end of the line, and then out that way--and flicked the headlights onto high.

"What the fuck is that?" he asked aloud, and then he accelerated rapidly and braked as quickly.

"Oh, my God!" Terry said. She had seen what he had.

There was a man propped up against the rear of one of the parked cars, his legs sprawled in front of him. A woman was kneeling beside him, wiping at his face. He was bleeding from the mouth.

Matt jumped out of the car.

"What happened?"

"What does it look like?" the woman snapped. "We were mugged."

"I gave him my wallet, why did they have to do this?" the man asked, and spit. What looked like part of a tooth came out of his mouth.

"Have you got a cell phone?" the woman demanded. "We need an ambulance."

Matt reached for his cell phone.

"My God, they're coming back!" the man said.

Matt saw where he was looking.

At the extreme end of the parking lot, there were two young men in dark clothes.

"You're sure that's them?" Matt asked.

"That's them, that's them, that's them," the woman said.

"Stop right there," Matt called, loudly. "I'm a police officer."

The two started running.

One of them had what could be a sawed-off shotgun, or a softball bat.

"Where the hell were you