Holt listened to Parker's tale and then asked if he was sure.

"Did I make this call because I wasn't? Christ, Detective, c'mon."

"Did he see you? Was he looking for you or De- Miss Jones? Maybe it's just a coincidence. It's a small world you know."

"Yeah, it's a small world, but I wouldn't want to paint it. It is no coin-" Parker stopped at the guffaw he heard on the line. "Detective?"

"Wouldn't want to paint it . . . Jesus, Nevens, you slay me."

"Swell. Right now I'm concerned about me- us being slain."

"Okay, okay. I'll be right down and we'll find out just what's going on."

"We'll be in the coffee shop across from the theatre." Parker closed the phone and took Des by the hand and walked her across to the coffee shop.

"He says he'll be right down. Let's hope our guy is still there when he arrives."

They sat by the window and nursed two mugs of coffee. Parker chomped on a fritter claiming he needed a sugar bump.

"Why are they following us still.?"

"No idea, Des unless whoever killed Earl still thinks we know more than we do."

"That guy is dead, remember?"

"Okay then whoever killed him. I don't know. Holt said something about some woman."

"That wasn't a woman in the theatre." As she spoke they both watched a woman across the street exit a taxi and stride purposefully into the theatre. Silence hung between them as a bevy of thoughts raced through each of their minds.

"You don't suppose--"

"C'mon, Parker. It's just another member of the old cast."

"You recognized her?"

"No, but-" She shoved her coffee away. "You are making me paranoid."

Parker wiped his mouth and said, "There's Holt. He even brought a uniformed helper. We're saved."

"You called him, remember?"

"Yeah . . . hard to forget."

******

Grace entered the theatre and found her way backstage and down to the basement. Dusty props stood carelessly around the bare concrete room, the once creatively conceived works of some eager designer now discarded and forgotten. She walked carefully down the narrow corridor to the door at the end and stopped to listen. Muffled voices could be heard rising and falling in argument and Grace assembled her Beretta before opening the door and stepping inside.

"Hey! Who the hell are-"

Grace ignored the protest and ended it with a deadly shot to the chest. Cory's face lit up in surprise and stayed that way as he slammed back into the wall and slid down to a sitting position.

"Oh Christ!" Mickey looked around but there was no place to go. He held his hands up in front as Grace closed the door.

"He's not going to help you, Mickey. He's not going to welcome you either."

"G-Grace, please. Look, I can explain!"

"Does this look like I'm here for an explanation? I know what you did and I know what it has cost me so explanations are a waste of my time. I'm here to teach a lesson . . . your last lesson."

"No! Please- I didn't- tell anyone. Just Tabor. That was to scare him." He nodded his head as though she might understand. He's gone now so- so you don't have to do this."

"Funny, your friend Donny said something similar."

Mickey went ashen and his hands dropped to his side. "Donny?"

She raised the gun and aimed as Mickey began to sob, Did Donny give him up? was his last thought as three quick shots drilled into his head, blowing most of it away, bits landing on the theatre posters pasted to the wall behind him. Grace sighed and studied the two bodies for a few seconds then put her gun away and left the room.

******

Holt pulled up a chair, set his mobile phone on the table and sat facing out the window between Des and Parker. He waved for a coffee and then, looking at Des, asked what happened. She recounted what had happened and then said that as far as they knew no one had left the theatre since they were sitting there.

"So you think he's still inside?"

Parker made a rude noise. "Why not just go and see instead of sitting here and losing him again."

"I never lost him Mr. Nevens, as a matter of fact I've yet to see him."

"Well now would be a good chance."

"I've got an officer around at the stage door and that one you see over there at the front. If your man is in there we'll get him soon enough. Look on the bright side Mr. Nevens."

"I tried that, it hurts my eyes."

Holt sat back and clapped his hands but before he could speak his mobile crackled and he answered right away.

"Keep her there I'll be right over."

He slid his chair back and stood up.

"What? What's happening?"

"My man caught some woman sneaking out the stage door. He's holding her there 'til I get over."

"It wasn't a woman we called about." Parker called after the departing detective. "Crap."

"Let them do their job, Parker. He didn't really even have to come you know."

Parker pulled a face. "Yeah, he did. He has the hots for you."

"Parker!"

"He does. Who did he ask when he first sat down. I was the one who phoned. Who does he ask for when he calls your place."

"That doesn't mean-"

"C'mon, Des. You aren't that naïve."

She turned and watched Holt hustling across the street and into the alley beside the theatre. She admitted to herself that she felt Holt was displaying an interest and it seemed almost high school to have Parker sounding jealous; it produced an internal smile.

"Maybe I am."

He stared uncertainly at her and then saw the tiny flutter at the corner of her mouth. Okay, I won't mention it again."

***********

Holt nodded to the uniform and looked at Grace with interest. "Do you have a name, miss?"

"Ima."

"Ima what?"

"Don't ask me." The line was delivered with a tough arrogance but Holt still grinned.

"Seems all I meet these days are comedians." He turned to the uniform. "What's in her purse?"
The policeman withdrew the Beretta and the silencer holding them up with a surprised expression.

"Cuff her."

"I have a license." Grace protested.

"Not for the silencer you don't, lady. Cuff her."

The policeman got within a step and was stopped dead with a Karate chop to the throat. He made a gargled noise, clutched his windpipe and sagged down to his knees. Holt gaped and before he could draw his weapon or react he felt his collarbone crack from another chop. Grace grabbed her gun and purse and ran down the alley to the next street.

Des was ready to make another comment when the uniformed policeman left the front of the theatre and headed for the alley.

"Look! What do think is happening?"

"Don't know. Let's go and see."

"Oh I don't know-"

Parker was up and over to the cash, paying for their coffees and waving Des to hurry. The left the shop and ran across the road and then slowed and made their way down the alley to the rear of the theatre.

"You can't come back here, you'll have to go back-"

"Holt! What happened?" Parker called to the detective, pushing past the uniform.

"Hey! I said you can't-"

"It's okay, officer. They're the reason we're here."

"What happened?" Parker was looking at the officer on the ground and at the odd posture of Holt.

"I think we just met the woman who killed Tabor and the motel owner."

Des was standing to one side, arms wrapped tightly around her. "You mean she did this and then got away?"

Holt was about to answer when a shriek of sirens bracketed the alley and a cluster of police, fire and paramedics stormed in from both ends.

"What the hell? Who called 911?"

The first policeman to arrive hurried past to the stage door, hollering back, "Been a shooting inside!"

The firemen all stopped, milling around and yakking at the paramedics who were tending to Holt and the injured officer. They had nothing to do now and all it meant was paperwork when they got back to the station.

"Somebody get the hell in there and find out what's going on." Holt growled, cursing and fussing as the medics removed his jacket and began immobilizing his arm and neck.

Des and Parker were once again ushered away from the scene, this time with no reprieve and wound up standing in front of the theatre with a gathering of curious pedestrians. When Holt was helped down the alley by the paramedics he stopped and beckoned the couple over, telling them walk with him to the ambulance.

Another pair of paramedics arrived with the injured policeman on a gurney and loaded him in first, securing the rig inside the van and then checking all his vitals.

"What happened? Parker asked. "What was that about a shooting."

"It seems that Grace Purcell, that woman," he jerked his head back toward the theatre, wincing. "Shot a couple of people in the basement there."

"Who? Why?"

"The theatre super, guy named Faber."

"Holy crap! I was just talking with him!" Parker's mouth dropped open.

"What about?"

"Nothing, just making small talk but it was just before we called you. Jesus!"

"Who was the other person?" Des asked, her voice shaking.

"A small time hood. Mickey Spataro. My people are running down his record now." He looked at Des and frowned. "What's wrong, your shaking?"

Parker put his arm around her. "Des?"

"This could all be our fault . . . coming here and all . . . bringing this- this trouble with us."

"No. Hey- no, Des-"

The group fell silent and an awkwardness set in at Holt's personal use of her name. Parker felt his jealousy stirring and he tightened his arm around her.

"Sorry. You uh- you don't need to blame yourself for any of this." Holt risked a glance at Parker and continued. She was on a mission and I suspect it had to do with Mickey Spataro."

"Don't you think it's quite a coincidence though?" Parker's voice was tighter than normal and Des gave him a light nudge.

"We have to go, Detective." The paramedic assisted him into the back of the ambulance and closed the doors.

"I guess that ends our night at the theatre." Parker took her arm and steered her back down the street toward the bus stop.

A number of people milled about the theatre entrance, police speaking to different small groups and Parker steered her past without stopping; they didn't need a night of police questions and reports.

"Could we take a cab?" Des asked. "I just want to get home."

"Sure." He looked around as he took out his cell then called a taxi. They leaned against the building on the corner and waited, each lost in a jumble of thoughts.