A flat-chested black woman plainclothes, with skinny arms and a mouthful of gold teeth, was arguing with him. She wore a rumpled brown blouse that hung out of her dark blue slacks, makeup that had streaked in the rain, and loafers without socks. Nate Baxter tried to turn away from her, but she moved with him, her hands on her thin hips, her mouth opening and closing in the rain.

'I'm talking to you, Lieutenant,' she said. 'It's my opinion we have a situation that's gotten out of hand here. The response is not proportionate to the situation. Not in my opinion, sir. If you persist, I plan to file my own report. Are you hearing me, sir?'

'Do whatever you feel like, Sergeant. But please go do it somewhere else,' Baxter said.

'I'm responding to the call. I resent your talking to me like that, too,' she said.

'All right, I'll put it a little more clearly. You're a nuisance and a pain in the ass. You want to make a civil rights case out of that, be my guest. In the meantime, get out of here. That's an order.'

A uniformed white cop laughed in the background.

Baxter's eyes narrowed under the brim of his hat when he saw me.

'What are you doing, Nate?' I said.

He ignored me and began talking to a cop in a bulletproof vest and a bill cap turned backwards on his head.

'What are you trying to do to Clete Purcel?' I said.

'Stay behind the tape, Robicheaux,' he said.

'I can talk him out of there.'

'You're out of your jurisdiction.'

Even in the rain his breath was heated and stale.

'Nobody needs to get hurt here, Nate,' I said.

'Purcel dealt the play, not me. You know what? I think he's been looking for this moment all his life.'

'Have you called him on the phone?'

'That's a good idea, isn't it? I'd really like to do that. Except he tore it out of the wall and wrapped it around a guy's throat. Then he rammed the guy through the front window.'