Jerry moved from behind the chair to the French doors.

"We better talk about it some more."

Booker's head turned to follow Chris.

"Where you going? Hey, motherfucker, I'm talking to you!"

Chris stepped out and closed the door. He moved with Jerry to the far edge of the slate patio before looking back at the French doors in the afternoon sunlight. They could hear Booker in there, faintly. They crossed the yard, Jerry offering Chris a cigarette. He took one and Jerry gave him a light once they reached the driveway and were standing by the three-car garage, alone in the backyard. Jerry looked up at the elm trees. He said, "Well, they're finally starting to bud. I thought winter was gonna run through May."

Chris said, "That's my favorite kind of house. Sort of an English Tudor, before Booker got hold of it."

Jerry said, "Why don't you and Phyllis buy one?"

"She likes apartments. Goes with her career image."

"She must be jumping up and down, finally got her way."

Chris didn't say anything.

"I'm talking about your leaving the squad."

"I know what you meant. I haven't told her yet. I'm waiting till I get reassigned."

"Maybe Homicide, huh?"

"I wouldn't mind it."

"Yeah, but would Phyllis?"

Chris didn't answer. They smoked their cigarettes and could hear fire equipment arriving. Jerry said, "Hey, I was kidding. Don't be so serious."

"I know what you're saying," Chris said.

"Phyllis is the kind of person that speaks out. Something bothers her, she tells you about it."

"I know," Jerry said.

"There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"I'm not saying anything against her."

"What it is, Phyllis says things even some guys would like to but don't have the nerve."

"Yeah, 'cause she's a woman," Jerry said, "she doesn't have to worry about getting hit in the mouth."

Chris shook his head.