“Hell, no. Look at this ol’ boy! He can kick my behind up one side of the block and down the other . . .”

Jamiel started rocking, a hand covering his face.

“Look at him! What do you think, they teach us some supersecret karate moves? Do I look like Jackie Chan to you?”

The kids turned into popcorn.

“Look at him, and look at me. But now, and this is why I’m telling you the female is the far deadlier of the species . . . Because all things are not equal, and if it’s just me and him in that alley? I’m gonna do whatever I have to do to survive. If I got the time? I’ll get on my radio, call out the troops. But if I don’t? I’m goin’ right for Baby Huey,” patting the holstered Glock on her belt. “See, a male cop, he might be all macho, thinking, Yeah, I’ll take this kid down with my bare hands, and all that. But me? Unh-uh. I can’t take him like that. And I will survive . . . The female, boys and girls, is the far more deadlier of the species . . .”

The PA speakers affixed to the balcony booped loudly, signaling the end of the period, and the kids began to file out of the auditorium, not one of them even looking back at her over their shoulders.

“You’re welcome,” she said out loud but not really put out, seized as she was by the irresponsibility of her own crackpot lecture, once again proving to herself that you could say anything you wanted in this school system—in this city, most likely—because no one ever really listened anyhow.

She had never considered herself a sour or even pessimistic individual before, and she hoped after retirement she would come back up to the light, but these last few months of endgame assignments were just straight up kicking her ass.

Coming off the stage with her Crime Doesn’t Pay slide show in a Waldbaum’s shopping bag, she noticed a gray-haired gent in a shiny suit sitting by himself toward the rear of the auditorium, and as she made her way up the aisle he rose to greet her.

“Detective Ammons?” The guy offered his hand, Nerese faltering as she stripped the gray from his hair, filled in a few facial creases.

“Mr. Egan?”

“Yeah,” cocking his head. “Do we know each other?”

“Mr. Egan.” Nerese brightened. “I was in your English class like twenty-odd years ago. Nerese Ammons?”

“Nerese?” he said tentatively, not remembering her.

“I loved that class. I’ll never forget, you read us parts of Grendel in Old English.”

“Beowulf?” he gently corrected.

“What did I say,” Nerese flushed, praying that he hadn’t sat through her Looney Tunes lecture.

“So you’re a detective,” he beamed. “That’s great, just great.”

“I also had two years of college,” she blurted, embarrassing herself further. “You still teaching English?”

“Well, these days I’m the principal, actually,” he said, almost apologetically.

“Hey, there you go.” Nerese smiled, but just wanting to get the hell out of there now.

“Listen,” Egan took her hand in both of his. “These kids, I can’t tell you how grateful we are for you coming in like this.”

“No problem.” Her hand slid free as she headed once again for the doors.

“Listen, Denise . . .”

“Nerese,” she listlessly corrected him, just like she had to correct every third or fourth person who addressed her by name every day of her life.

“Nerese. Sorry.” He perched on the arm of a chair. “Can I talk to you about something?”

She dropped into the hinged seat directly across the aisle from him, the two of them dwarfed by the oceanic emptiness of the hall.

“Which district do you work out of?”

“The Bow and Arrow district,” she said.

“Come again?”

“I’m ten weeks from retirement. When you have less than a half-year to go they take you out of the field, give you stuff like this.” She flapped a hand toward the stage.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“It’s a long story.” Nerese sinking, sinking.

“The reason I’m asking, Nerese, is that we had a teacher here, a volunteer no less, local guy, terrific guy, was a very successful television writer out in California, came back to town, came to us, offered to teach a writing class off the cuff, got stood up by the kids three four times in a row before I could make it happen. The guy was patient, never complained, just kept showing up until we finally got the thing airborne. Taught here for a month, like I said, a great guy, an incredible resource for us . . .” Egan took a breath, hauled one leg up across the other.

Nerese stole a peek at her watch: 2:15.

“Anyways, two days ago, the guy was assaulted, got his head bashed in pretty good. He’s laid up in Dempsy Medical. And, I made some inquiries, they don’t know what happened, who did it, but the poor bastard almost died.”

“This was in school?”

“No no no. In his apartment. Now, I know a few detectives, made some calls, but my guys, turns out they’re retired, on vacation, one guy’s under indictment apparently. The thing is, whoever did this? They’re still out there and for whatever reason there doesn’t seem to be much of an investigation going on, and you know, Jesus Christ, I’d like to see someone nail that sonofabitch.”

“No, I hear you,” Nerese said softly, thinking, Not my table.

“I mean, I feel like I owe this guy for what he did for the kids here, you know?”

“You think it was any of them?”

“His students? Nah. I mean who the hell knows these days, but no. Not really.