Hells Kitchen

case? One with witnesses and solid evidence?” Lomax asked.
    “A grounder,” offered Tony.
    Lomax continued, leaning close to Pellam, “You know what we call a case we can’t figure out?”
    “A balk?” Pellam tried.
    “We call it a mystery, Mr. Lucky. Well, that’s what we got here. A big fucking mystery. We know the lady hired this guy but we can’t find any fucking leads. And I just don’t know what to do about it. So I don’t have any choice. All I can think of is to start hitting that old lady hard. Am I saying this, Tony?”
    “You’re not saying anything.”
    “And if that doesn’t work, Mr. Lucky, then I’m going to start hitting you hard.”
    “Me.”
    “You. You were at the building around the time of the fire—like you were supposed to be an alibi for the old lady. Now you’re walking around, talking to witnesses, with that big dick of a camera you got. You’re a man’s been around cops, I can smell that. I think you’ve seen more of ’em than you’d like, you ask me. So before I start whaling on her and on you, I want a straight answer: What’s your interest in all this?”
    “Simple. You arrested the wrong person. Getting that to register in your mind—that’s my interest.”
    “By destroying evidence? Intimidating witnesses? Fucking up the investigation?”
    Pellam glanced at the man beside him. A nebbishy guy. The sort you’d cast for an accountant or, if he had to be a cop, one from Internal Affairs.
    Pellam said, “Let me ask you a few questions.” The marshal grimaced but Pellam continued. “Why’d Ettie burn down a whole building if she’s just got a policy on her apartment?”
    “Because she hired a fucking psycho who couldn’t control himself.”
    “Well, why’d she need to hire somebody at all. Why couldn’t she fake a grease fire?”
    “Too suspicious.”
    “But it was suspicious anyway.”
    “Less suspicious than just burning her place. Besides, she didn’t know about the insurance fraud database.”
    “She lost everything in the fire.”
    “What everything? A thousand bucks worth of old furniture and crap?”
    Pellam said, “And her fingerprints? What about them ? You think she’s going to hire somebody then give the pyro a bottle with her fingerprints on them? Andisn’t it kind of funny that the parts of the bottle with her prints on them don’t get melted into bubble gum?”
    “What should I ask this fellow now, Tony?” Lomax asked his belabored assistant, who thought for a moment before answering. Then said, “I’d wonder how he knew we got her prints on the bottle.”
    “Well?” Lomax raised an eyebrow.
    “Lucky guess,” Pellam responded. “True to my name.”
    “Turn here,” Lomax said to the driver. The car skidded around a curve. And stopped. “Tony,” the marshal gave the cue.
    The assistant turned and Pellam suddenly found an very large pistol resting on his temple.
    “Jesus . . .”
    “I got more trivia for you, Pellam. Us fire marshals aren’t cops. We don’t have to worry about P.D. regs. We can carry whatever kind of weapons we want. What kind of gun is that you’re holding, Tony?”
    “This is a .38 Magnum. I load it with Plus P rounds.”
    “So you can fuck around with innocent people more efficiently?” Pellam asked. “Is that the idea?
    The cop holding the gun drew it back. Pellam laughed again, shaking his head. He knew he wasn’t going to get hit. Physical evidence of a beating was the last thing these boys wanted. Tony looked at Lomax, who shrugged.
    The gun disappeared into the big man’s pocket. He and Lomax climbed out of the front seat, looked away.
    Pellam was thinking, Called their bluff, when the skinny man slammed his bony fist, wrapped around a roll of quarters or nickels, into Pellam’s head just behind the ear. An explosion of pain shot through him.
    “Man . . . Christ.”
    Another blow. Pellam’s face bounced off the window. Outside Lomax and Tony were examining a pile of trash in the alley, nodding.
    Before he could lift his hands the skinny man delivered another fierce blow. There was a burst of yellow light and more astonishing pain. It occurred to him that the bruise and the welt would be virtually impossible to see through his hair.
    So much for evidence.
    The man dropped the roll of coins into his pocket and sat back. Pellam wiped pain tears from his eyes and turned to the man. Before he could say anything—or haul off and break the man’s jaw—the door opened and