I don't say anything. I don't really have to. Because he's right, that's some shit hitting the fan pretty damn hard.

--You got to admit, whatever it was made you go wandering around the Hood, trailing one of Predo's enforcers, whatever that was, it'd have to be pretty damn important to get you off the hook at this point. And, well, that's even assuming the enforcer hadn't gone missing. Then we got.

He looks at his papers.

--We got one of Digga's people, Papa Doc, sending word through Predo that you escaped custody and beat on some guards. All and allÉ

He looks at the papers again.

--Looks like you've been making some noise all over. And, you know, shooting Tom, well, that was a bad call, too. So.

He drops the papers and looks up.

--So, I don't know. You got anything to say about all this?

Anything to say? Anything to say about Terry being the one who set me off poking in the first place? No. Not yet.

And Tom's just playing his angle. Hand it to the shit, it's a bold play. We'll see how far it gets him.

--I got nothing to say.

Tom hops off the table and goes to the fridge.

--And how 'bout this, asshole, got anything to say about this?

He drops a bag of anathema on the table.

--Got anything to say about this being in your apartment? You fucking poisoner. You motherfucking dealer piece of shit.

Terry gives me a look.

The look goes from the anathema to me and back again. A shake of the head goes with it.

--Of all things, Joe. This stuff? I never thought I'd see it again. Been so long, I had to explain it to Tom and Lydia. You know it's killing kids out there? You know what it's doing right now to our kids? Let alone the Society cause, man. Stuff is trouble. Got to say, Tom's right on this one, it's poison.

Lydia points at the bag.

--That shit. That shit. That kid you took care of at Doc's? That fish you put down? That fish was one of mine. He was in the Alliance. You. You fucking. You what? You hooked him and what? He was gonna talk to someone? Tell someone where he got it? Was that it? Did you give him the hotshot that sent him over? You. Jesus. You fucking.

She looks elsewhere, happy not to have my face in her field of vision.

Terry picks up the papers.

--All this stuff, I don't know, man, this stuff. Maybe, maybe we could have worked some of this out. But that.

He waves the papers at the anathema.

--That isÉI don't know, Joe.

He drops the papers.

--Help me here, man. Tell me something that will help.

Tom sticks his face in mine.

--No. He's got nothing to say this time. He's in it now and he knows it. Don't you, asshole? You are in the shit. Know better than to open your mouth this time, don't you? Know if you open your mouth this time it'll fill right up with shit.

--It's Tom! He's the one!

It's funny. Sometimes, you'll be thinking something, thinking it over and over and over again. You'll be thinking it and just waiting for the absolutely perfect moment to say it when you know it will have the most impact and really fuck somebody's shit up. And then, right when you're all set to say it, someone beats you to the punch.

We all look at The Count.

He says it again.

--It's Tom! He's the one! He's the dealer. Not Joe. It's Tom.

Tears are running down his face, cutting tracks in the dry blood.

--It's Tom. He. Oh, God. Don't let him hurt me. Don't let him hurt me anymore. It's Tom.

Not surprisingly, Tom does try to hurt him.

--You shit! You little fuck!

Terry doesn't need to move.

--Hurley.

Hurley scoops Tom up before he can touch The Count. He puts him on the floor and puts his foot in his chest as he pulls out his twin .45s and points them at Tom's partisans. They stop thinking about whatever moves they were thinking about and get busy thinking about staying very still.

Hurley looks down.

--Sorry 'bout dat, Tom. You OK?

--Get off me, you fucking moron!

--Sorry, Tom. Not till Terry says so.

The Count, his legs strapped to the legs of the chair, is rocking and lunging against his bindings, trying to get farther away from Tom.

--No! No! Don't let him up! No! He'll kill me! No!

Terry stands, arms held out.

--Cool it! Everybody just needs to cool it. Kid! Kid! Count! Dude, cool it. No one is gonna hurt you. Just cool it.

The Count freezes, eyes big in his head. He's stopped screaming. Mumbling now, whispering.

--Oh, shit, oh shit. I'm gonna die. I don't wanna die. Oh shit.

--Cool it. Calm down, man.

The Count goes silent except for the crying.

Tom is another matter.

--Get your fucking foot off me, you fucking stupidass retard.

Hurley looks at Terry.

Terry walks over and looks down at Tom.

--Be cool, Tom. This is a tense situation, I know, but we're gonna sort it. Don't take it out on Hurley.

--Fuck you, Terry. Get him the fuck off of me.

--You gonna be cool?

Tom opens and closes his mouth a few times, takes some deep breaths.

--Yeah. I'm gonna be cool. Now. Get. Him. Off. Me.

Terry nods.

--OK, cool. Let him up, Hurley. And those guys are OK, you don't have to cover them.

Hurley takes his foot off Tom's chest and lowers his guns. But he doesn't put them away, just moves to the door so no one can get out without going through him.

Tom jumps up and takes a step toward The Count.

--You fucker.

Terry comes between them.

--Cool. Remember?

Tom turns and walks to the other side of the room, closer to his partisans.

--Yeah. Cool. Fine. Long as I don't have to hear more of that shit.

Terry nods.

--Sure, sure. But, you know, let's just look into this. See where The Count is coming from.

He faces The Count.

--What's it about? An accusation like that, that's a pretty big deal, you know? Could get you in a lot of trouble.

The Count rolls his eyes.

--Trouble? I'm in trouble, man. What do you think? Man, that's why. Don't you know what?

--Cooool. Easy. Breathe a little.

--Little lying fucker.

--Tom! Cool it.

The Count breathes.

Terry puts a hand on his shoulder.

--So what's up here? What's got you spooked enough to try a story like that?

--Story? Man. Story? You want a story ? OK, try this. Tom is the fucking dealer. Tom is the hookup for all of downtown.

--This is such fucking!

--Hurley.

Hurley holds up one of his pistols and presses it to his lips.

--Tom, shhhh.

Tom shuts up.

Terry pats The Count.

--And?

--And. And. Oh shit. You guys. You're gonna. Just. Look. All I want is. I'll tell you everything, man. It's gonna come out. All I want is, keep him away from me. And. And when you do me. Don't let me burn. Just. Not the sun. Something. But not the sun.

--Hey, hey. We'll talk about executions, all that, you know, later. But, we're not gonna burn anyone.

--OK. OK. I'm. OK. So. I, you know, I have some money, I like a good time. The other fish, they know that. So I have a lot of friends. Tom, he, you know, he's the guy who gets the shit. Me, I'm the guy helps to hook him up with other fish, other kids.

Tom's not even trying to talk now, just staring, jaw hanging, face going from red to white and back again.

--Tom brings it in, and I help to hook up the customers.

--OK. So Tom brought it in. You helped. Why? You don't need money.

--No. It's. Oh shit. It's for the Coalition. Tom's a fucking mole for the Coalition.

Tom coughs. Laughs. Laughs some more. He shakes his head. Starts to breathe normally again. It's too outrageous. Hearing it, it's too much to believe.

The look The Count is getting from Terry is the look you give someone when the lie they're telling is so over the top you have to listen out of sheer awe.

--Wow. OK. That's, wow, that's pretty big. That would be a pretty big deal. So he, what? He told you? He told you he was a Coalition mole and he was, I don't know, bringing this shit in to undermine the Society. Is that how this stuff works?

--No. I. No.

--No. OK. OK. You, like, you found out. You found out and you were outraged and now you're telling us, that it?

--No.

--OK. Well, I don't know, man, you tell me what the story is. How'd you find this out?

The Count starts to cry again.

--Because I'm a spy, man. I'm a fucking Coalition agent. Don't you. Maaaan. You're being sold out. There's a deal. Tom helps to bring you down, man, he does that, sets up an alliance with the Coalition and they let him run the turf. I know. I made the contact, man. I'm a spy. I'm a spy. Just don't. God, please. Don't burn me, man. Don't burn me.

Terry straightens up. He looks at Tom.

--Wow. How about that?

Tom is shaking his head.

--Fucking spies, man. What a load. That, see, that's how the Coalition works. That's how they fucking plan to undermine us. By attacking our unity. That kind of creepy bullshit.

The Count isn't done.

--He told me. He said I was supposed to tell a story about Joe. Say Joe was the dealer, say he was the spy. I was supposed to do it here. In front of the council. He told me to act like I was unconscious until the council was in session. Then tell this story. Tell it in front of everybody, that it was Joe, and that you knew. Tell 'em that you knew. So he could, he could have you removed. Have you executed and take the chair, man. He. He would have killed me after. He would have. He's a fucking.

He turns his eyes on Tom.

--You fucking sadist! You sick son of a bitch! That shit you did to me! You fucking! You die! I don't care anymore! Burn me! Burn me! Just burn him next to me so I can watch!

It's more than a guy like Tom can take.

Terry takes care of him this time, has him on the ground almost as quickly as Hurley did. The partisans want to help their leader, but what are you supposed to do with Hurley and Lydia in your face?

The Count sobs.

--I'll burn. Ungh, God. I'll, Jesus, I'll, hngh, hngh, hngh, I'll burn just to watch.

Tom raves.

--Off me! That fucking spy. Both of them. Don't think this is gonna get you off the hook. You know it's bullshit. Everyone in here can smell it.

I clear my throat.

--Um, I don't want to stick my nose in family business, but that is pretty much what the old lady told me.

Terry swings around.

--Old lady?

--Vandewater. She said her name was Vandewater. Lives Uptown. Ever hear of her?

First, things come to a halt as Terry tries to get Digga on the phone. That takes awhile. Seems he's been pretty busy smacking some ass up there. But once he does, once Digga confirms that I did some muthafuckin' fine recognizance for him up on Morningside Heights, once it is confirmed that I was up there and met the old lady and came down with the anathema and a witness, once that all gets said? The shoe gets on the other foot in a hurry. Figure some of that speed has to do with a sense of justice needing to be done in a hurry. Figure some of it's because Terry doesn't want me talking too much about some of the things Vandewater had to say. Figure six of one, a half dozen of the other. But mostly, figure it's the other: Terry being the private sort and all.

The partisans get to stay. Once they see the new wind that's blown through the room, they opt for roles as official witnesses to a hastily called tribunal. Terry and Lydia sit. Under normal circumstances Tom would have sat next to them as head of security, loving a good tribunal as he does, but things being a bit out of joint, Hurley sits in for him.

It's an intimate affair. The Count gives testimony. I give testimony. The partisans give testimony as to what they just heard in this room. Tom tries to give testimony, but the tape Hurley wrapped around his face keeps it to a minimum.

The verdict comes in fast.

Terry, Lydia and Hurley each write a word on a scrap of paper and show them to each other.

Terry does the honors.

--Tom Nolan, on charges of treason, espionage, distribution of poisons, murder, corruption of the principles of the Society, abuse of office, and any and all additional charges that might accrue to you posthumously, you are found guilty and will be executed.

He shuffles the scraps of paper.

--Further.

He takes off his glasses, blinks.

--Further, due to the nature and, well, the extent of your crimes. We've decided. Hell. You're going out in the sun. You have to burn.

He puts his glasses back on.

--You sorry son of a bitch.

--There's gonna be some fallout.

Terry comes back from the fridge and hands me a beer.