“What exactly is the concept for S.I.T.?” I asked him. I'd been pondering my current job situation, especially reporting in to George Pittman.

Carl Monroe smiled broadly. He can be very slick with people, and he's actually very smart. He always appears to be caring and benevolent, and maybe he is. He can even listen when he needs to.

“The main idea is to make sure that the strongest black men and women in the Metro police force rise to the top, as they should. Not just the ass-kissers, Alex. That hasn't always happened in the past.”

“I think we'd be all right without too much affirmative action. You heard about the murders in Condon and Langley Tefface?” I asked Monroe.

He nodded, but didn't say anything more about the signature murders. They were not a priority with the mayor today.

“Mother, daughter, three-year-old little boy,” I persisted, starting to get angry again. “Nobody gives a shit about them.”

“So what's new, Alex? Nobody cared about their lives. Why should anybody care about their deaths?”

We had gotten to my car, a '74 Porsche that has seen much better days. The doors creaked and there was a faint odor of past fast-food lunches. I drove it during the three years I was in private practice. We both got in.

“You know, Alex, Colin Powell is head of the Joint Chiefs now. Louis Sullivan was our secretary of Health and Human Services. Jesse Jackson helped to get me this job,” Monroe said as we got onto Canal Road and headed downtown. He stared at his reflection in the side window as he talked.

“And now you're helping me?” I said. “Without even being asked. That's real nice, real thoughtful.”

“That's right,” he agreed. “You're so damn quick, Alex. ”

"Then help me out here. I want to solve the murders in the projects. I'm sorry as hell about those two white

Janwo Patterson children, but their kidnapping won't go wanting for tion or help. Fact is, that's going to be a problem. Too much goddamned help."