Hark!

'Like you throw at a board,' Genero said, nodding. 'Like in a pub.'

'What do you know about pubs, Richard?'

'They're like these bars they have over there.'

'Over where, Richard?'

'In England. Where Shakespeare came from,' Genero said, and hesitated. 'Didn't he?'

'Smaller and smaller,' Eileen said. 'The weapons.'

Willis looked at her. So did Kling.

'They're getting smaller and smaller.'

'A sword ain't smaller than an arrow,' Parker said.

'A dart is,' Hawes said.

'He's gonna shoot somebody with a poisoned dart!' Genero announced triumphantly.

'Who is?' Ollie Weeks asked.

He had just pushed his way through the gate in the slatted rail divider that separated the squadroom from the corridor outside. Now, sauntering in as if he owned the place, he walked over to where the detectives were gathered around the note on Carella's desk, peeked at it, shrugged, and said, 'Who's Carmela Sammarone?'

'Why?' Eileen asked.

'Hey, Cutie, how you like it up here?' Ollie said, referring to her recent transfer, and grinning like a shark.

'I like it fine, thanks,' she said, almost adding 'Fatso,' but she felt he might be sensitive. 'Why do you want to know about Carmela Sammarone?'

'Because I caught a dead pimp, and from what I

understand, he gave up one of his girls to you. Is that correct?'

'One of his former girls, yes.'

'So mayhaps his ratting her out pissed her off,' Ollie said. 'And mayhaps, as a consequence, she pumped a pair of nines into him.'

'You speak Shakespeare, too?' Genero asked.

'Huh?' Ollie said.

'Mayhaps, I mean.'

'Huh?' Ollie said again.

'We're getting notes from Shakespeare.'

'Don't be ridiculous. Shakespeare's dead.'

'Quotes from him,' Genero explained.

'So what?' Ollie said.

'Sammarone is delivering them,' Willis said.

'Paying people to deliver them.'

'That's what Carter spilled.'

Ollie thought this over for a moment.

'That doesn't sound like a reason to kill him,' he said.

'Maybe it does,' Parker said. 'We think she's working for the guy who stiffed a broad last week.'

'Puts a different slant on it, I will admit,' Ollie said. 'So why don't we just go bust her and the guy both?'

'Where?'

'Last address we have for her is L.A.'

'I could go on the earie again,' Ollie suggested. 'See if any of the other girls know where she's at.'

'You could do that,' Willis agreed.

'It's from Coriolanus,' Carella said at the computer.

'That makes an even ten plays. Or eleven maybe.'

'I'd still like to know how many he wrote,' Genero said.

'So go to the lib'ery, Richard.'

You know that one about Bush?' Ollie asked.

'What one?'

'When they asked him how he liked Liberia, he said "I love it. Well, you know, my wife used to be a lib'erian."' 'I don't get it,' Parker said.

'What do you make of this last line?' Carella asked. They all looked at it. Even Ollie looked at it.

We prove this very hour.

They all looked at the clock on the wall.

It was 3:45.

'Maybe he's about to tell us when he's going to do it,' Eileen said.

'Do what?' Ollie asked.

'Whatever he's planning. The time he's going to do it. The "very hour.'"

'Who?'

'The Deaf Man.'

'Do I know him?' Ollie said.

'Nobody knows him,' Genero said.

'This is getting too deep for me,' Ollie said. 'I'm sorry I came up here. See you,' he said, and started out.

'Wait up,' Parker said.

The two men strolled out into the corridor together. Parker took Ollie's elbow, leaned in close.

'So you still dating her?' he asked.

'Who you mean?'

'The little spic twist.'

'If you're referring to Officer Gomez, yes, we are still seeing each other.'

'You get in yet?' Parker asked subtly.

'I got work to do,' Ollie said, and shook his elbow free.

'Still tryin'a find that masterpiece of yours?'

'So long, Andy,' Ollie said.

'Still tryin'a find the little spic faggot who stole your precious book?'

But Ollie was already going down the iron-runged steps that led downstairs.

THE TOPIC OF discussion at Channel Four's afternoon meeting was what everyone was already calling 'The Note.'

DEAR HONEY:

PLEASE FORGIVE ME AS I DID NOT KNOW

YOU WERE IN THAT AUTOMOBILE

Present at the meeting were Honey Blair, of course; Danny Di Lorenzo, the show's Program Director; Avery Knowles, its News Director and Head Anchor; his co-anchor, Millie Anderson; Jim Garrison, the Weekday Sports Anchor; and Jessica Hardy, the show's Weather Person, or — as she preferred being called — its Meteorologist.

'I think we should suppress the Note,' Di Lorenzo said.

As news director, Avery Knowles felt the Note was indisputably newsworthy. But he wasn't the program director, so he listened.

'The Note specifically says Honey wasn't the target . . .'

'Thank God,' Jessica said.

She was a very religious person. She almost crossed herself.

'. . . which is nice for Honey, but not so good for us,' Di Lorenzo said.

'Who was in that car with you, anyway?' Millie asked.

'A friend of mine,' Honey said.

'What friend?' Di Lorenzo asked.

'A detective I know.'

'A police detective?'

'Yes.'

'That makes it even worse.'

'How so?' Avery asked.

'If he's a detective, he'll be trying to find out who did the shooting.'

'So?'

'So that's our job. That's the job of Channel Four News. Find the demented individual who decided Honey Blair was a prime target for . . .'

'But I'm . . .'

'. . . extermination.'

'. . . not\ He says as much in his note. He didn't even know I was in the car. Cotton was the target.'

'Cotton?'

'Cotton Hawes. The detective who was with me.'

'Is that his name? Cotton?'

'Yes. Cotton Hawes.'

She said this somewhat defensively. She didn't want to get into a brawl with Di Lorenzo because he was, after all, the program director, whereas she was but a mere roving reporter, though not quite so mere anymore, not after Friday's shooting had granted her America's seemingly obligatory fifteen minutes of fame. But shouldn't they go on the air to tell their viewers that she hadn't been the intended target at all, her fame had been ill-earned, the true focus of the attack was . . .

'Cotton Hawes,' Di Lorenzo said, shaking his head in disbelief. 'An insignificant little nobody.'

Honey wanted to say that at six feet two inches, Cotton wasn't what anyone might consider 'little.' Not

anywhere, as a matter of fact. Nor was he exactly a 'nobody'; he was, in fact, the Detective / Second Grade who'd recently helped crack the Tamar Valparaiso kidnapping case. Nor was he 'insignificant,' either. He was, in fact, well on the way to becoming what Honey considered the 'significant other' in her life. But she didn't mention any of this to Di Lorenzo because she was beginning to catch his drift and beginning to understand what his approach could mean to her career.

"What we've got here,' Di Lorenzo said, 'is someone shooting at one of our star reporters

'But he wasn't,' Millie said. 'His note . . .'

'Nobody's seen the Note but us,' Di Lorenzo said.

'I'd have to show it to Cotton,' Honey said.

'Why?'

'Because someone's trying to kill him, for Christ's sake!'

This time, Jessica actually did cross herself.

'You said he's a detective, didn't you?' Di Lorenzo asked.

'Yes, but. . .'

'So I'm assuming he knows how to take care of himself. The point is, for reasons as yet unknown to any of us, someone shot at your limo this past Friday morning. It's not our job to find this person, whoever he . . .'