Kelly finds Martin at the Coney Isle, where else, but at least Mac's not there. "You hang up on me just one more time mister and your balls are in a slingshot."

Martin spins a matchbox on the counter. She takes a stool beside him. She waits. "If you're pissed at me because I got to this story before you did."

"You let him look like a retard."

"Oh. So Mac is some kind of genius by virtue of tripping across her body, is that it?"

"I'm just fucking tired, that's all."

"Gayle's been trying to find you. She's worried. Did the guy from New Orleans call? Your editor friend?" Kelly waits. "Oh, I see, that's it."

"No, that's not it and the pay wouldn't have been good for New Orleans. Higher cost of living."

"Who lives? We go to work, we eat, and sometimes we're allowed to sleep a little. You'll get an offer. Takes time. Might even happen to me."

"What?"

She drops a slip of paper in front of him, a printed message form. "Representing guess who."

"We played I-Spy what, twenty-three years ago?"

"Check the area code." He does. "Hot-Lanta," she mouths silently.

"Shitass."

"Probably my series on race. Or the lady who lost her toddler to the drunk driver but makes weekly appeals to the prison board to reduce his sentence because he has a toddler of his own and it's like it makes her a killer to take him away . . ."

"Right. The infinite bounds of the human heart."

"Yeah. Well, I'll be on the network and you'll be right here. On that stool." They let it sit a while. "But it's probably some catch to it," she says.

"Hasn't stopped you before, ainh?" He avoids her glare. The Coney Island is quiet, spooky.

"Okay. Do you me this, then, a favor, brother. Who do you think killed the Reverend. It's been five days."

"Find the car first, there you have it."

"Can you believe that? Still not found. Wrecker yards from here to Washington state. There's nothing to go on," she tells Paletello, who doesn't seem to be otherwise involved in the conversation.

Two patrol officers enter and nod to Martin and Kelly, addressing Paletello. The one they're looking for this time is Jimmy Lee. Possible trash can arson on North Second. They learn it has been a week or so since he's been around. In open conference the group discusses possible sources of his habitation; most probably one of the long-abandoned hotels on North Grand.

Martin convinces Tom to sit a minute; he does eagerly, winking broadly at Kelly. The immediate question suggests a series of unsolved interstate murders. Jimmy Lee has been detained in Shreveport and Jackson before on like suspicion, and thus. Martin pushes him; Tom plays the game. Suspect has nothing to do with Sarah, they're close to the story on that one.

"You talk to Glasseye?"

"We believe he has no relevance to her case. Did you know the Reverend had just saved him?"

"Yes, I knew that. I watch television."

His sister, failing to restrain a smirk. Paletello dispenses coffee in takeout cups and the officers are gone.

"Liars," Martin calls out.