High Noon

motherfucker.”
    When he broke the connection, Phoebe eased back. “Any progress locating this Clip?”
    “He’s gone under. We’ve got people on it.”
    “If we can tell the HT that Sagget’s in custody, that he’s being held, that may open a door. I want to know the minute he’s found.”
    She glanced at the white-faced clock on the wall. Four forty-five.
    Odds were she was going to be late for dinner.
     
    Duncan was pretty pleased with himself when he rang the bell on Jones Street. He was even more pleased when Essie answered it and the big smile broke across her face.
    “Oh my goodness! Who’s back there?”
    He spoke from behind an enormous basket of red poppies. “Three guesses. Any place special you want these?”
    “Just set them down right here until we figure that out. Aren’t they beautiful! Come right into the parlor. You’re right on time. Wine, too?”
    “I don’t often get invited to have dinner with four beautiful women. It’s an occasion for me.”
    “For us, too.” She took the wine, gestured. “You haven’t met my daughter-in-law, have you? Josie, this is Duncan Swift.”
    “Make that five beautiful women. Nice to meet you.”
    “Fifth one’s spoken for,” Carter said as he carried in a tray of canapés. Carly was right behind him with a second, smaller tray. “How’s it going, Duncan?”
    “Going good. Hey, Carly.”
    “Mama’s going to be late. She’s working.”
    “I guess that happens. Looks like enough food in here to hold me awhile. Oh, I got you something.”
    Her gaze arrowed straight to the little pink gift bag he held. “A present?”
    “A token for one of my hostesses.”
    “Thank you very much,” she said with formal politeness under her grandmother’s eagle eye. Then squealed with delight when she pulled out the hair tie. It looked like a bouquet—purple and white violets with a filmy trail of white ribbons.
    “It’s beautiful! I love it. Thank you!” Formality forgotten, Carly threw her arms around Duncan’s waist, then danced back. “Can I go put it on? Gran, please, can I go put it on right now?”
    “Run on then.”
    Carly made the dash, stopping once to toss Duncan a big smile over her shoulder.
    “Aren’t you the clever one?” Essie commented.
    “So they say.”
    By six-fifteen, Phoebe called home again and told Ava not to hold dinner on her account. Even if things resolved in the best possible way, there was no point in holding everyone else up while she dealt with the paperwork and debriefings.
    She downed iced coffee, grateful someone had the foresight to make use of the diner’s kitchen. Across from her sat Opal Johnson, Razz’s mother. It had taken some time to track her down as she’d left her older son’s bedside to sit on a bench outside the hospital and pray for his life.
    Now she was here, in a diner filled with cops, struggling for her other child.
    Progress had been made. Though he still refused to come out or release any hostages, Phoebe heard the changes in his voice, in his words. His resolve was weakening.
    “He’s going to jail, isn’t he?”
    “He’ll be alive,” Phoebe said. “He hasn’t hurt anyone yet.”
    Opal stared blindly out the diner’s window. She was stick thin, her dark face splotched from hours of weeping, her eyes exhausted from worry. “I did my best. I did all I knew. Work two jobs, made those boys go to school, to church. But my Franklin, he just goes his own way. And he took Charlie right along with him. Posse.” She spat the word out. “I couldn’t hold off against that.”
    “Mrs. Johnson, we’re going to do everything we can to get your son out safe. To get everyone out safe, so he has another chance.”
    “They think it makes them men.” Her hopeless eyes met Phoebe’s. “The gangs, the drugs, the killing. They think it makes them men.”
    “I’m going to talk to him again now.” Phoebe reached across the four-top, laid a hand briefly on Opal’s. “All right?”
    “You got any kids, miss?”
    “Phoebe, and yes. I have a daughter. She’s seven.”
    “Children rip the heart right out of you. And it lies there all bruised and battered, still beating for them. No matter what.”
    “Let’s get him out safe.” Phoebe started to make contact again, paused when Ricks rushed in.
    “We’ve got Sagget in custody. Charges of possession—drugs and firearms. Took a gun from the apartment where he was hiding, matches the caliber of the weapon that shot Franklin