'Will they believe me?'

'It doesn't matter. It's your business.' The woman shrugged. 'Unless you want to go to the police.'

'Good God, no!' the girl replied, a kind of agony there. 'That's the last thing I want.'

The woman stepped out, picked up the fallen umbrella and gave it to her. 'Then go, my dear, and don't look back. It didn't happen, none of it.' She stepped back and picked up the girl's purse where it had fallen. 'Don't forget this.'

The girl took it. 'And I won't forget you.'

The woman smiled. 'On the whole, I'd rather you did.'

The girl managed a small smile. 'I see what you mean.'

She turned and hurried off, clutching the umbrella. The woman watched her go, examined the bullet hole in her hat, put it on, then opened her own umbrella and walked away in the opposite direction.

Two blocks north, she found the Lincoln parked at the kerb. The man behind the wheel was out and waiting for her as she approached, a large black man wearing a grey chauffeur's suit.

'You okay?' he asked.

'I'm here, aren't I?'

She got into the front passenger seat. He closed the door, went round and got behind the wheel. She strapped herself in and tapped his shoulder. 'Where's that flask of yours, Hedley, the Bushmills whiskey?'

He took a silver flask from the glove compartment, unscrewed the cap and passed it to her. She swallowed once, twice, then handed it back.

'Wonderful.'

She took out a silver case, selected a cigarette and lit it with the car lighter, then blew out a long stream of smoke. 'All the bad habits are so pleasurable.'

'You shouldn't be doing that. It's not good for you.'

'Does it matter?'

'Don't say that.' He was upset. 'Did you get the bastard?'