Cowart smiled through the darkness. Hawkins liked to speak in maxims. 'The first law, Vernon, is never look for your trouble, because trouble will always find you when it wants to.'

The detective nodded. 'Real sweet kid. Real sweet psychopathic kid. Says he had nothing to do with it.'

'Christ.'

'Not that strange,' the detective continued. 'I mean, the kid probably blames Mr. Junior Exec and his wife there for what happened. If they hadn't tried to stiff him, you know what I mean.'

'But…'

'No remorse. Not a shred of sympathy or anything human. Just a kid. Tells me everything that happened. Then he says to me, "I didn't do nothing. I'm innocent. I want a lawyer." We're standing there and there's blood all over and he says he didn't do nothing. I guess that's because it didn't mean anything to him. I guess. Christ…'

He leaned back in defeat and exhaustion. 'You know how old this kid is? Fifteen. Just fifteen a month ago. Ought to be home worrying about pimples, dates, and homework. He'll do juvie time for sure. Bet the house on it.'

The detective closed his eyes and sighed. I didn't do nothing. I didn't do nothing. Jesus.'

He held out his hand. 'Look at that. I'm fifty-fucking-nine years old and gonna retire and I thought I'd seen and heard it all.'

The hand was quivering. Cowart could see it move in the light thrown from the pulsating police lights.

'You know,' Hawkins said as he stared at his hand, 'I'm getting so I don't want to hear any more. I'd almost rather shoot it out with some crazy fuck than I would hear one more guy talk about doing something terrible as if it means no more than nothing. Like it wasn't some life that he snuffed out, it was just a candy wrapper he crumpled up and tossed away. Like littering instead of first-degree murder.'