"Jus' what it says," she whispered. "You killed a fourteen-year-old kid by th' Brooklyn Bridge."

"Who is Dirk Galloway?" he asked numbly, looking over the article.

"A Manhattan newsy," I replied. Greyson looked up at me as I continued. "I didn't know him very well, but...well, everyone else seemed to really like him a lot. I did. He was a nice boy..."

"Nice enough dat now ev'ry one a' dem in Manhattan'll kill me an' Monkey if either of us shows our face 'till this is cleared up. I'm sure they'd do th' same ta you, Marconi."

Greyson swore loudly. "Th' dice. It had ta be th' dice."

"The dice beside the body..." I trailed off.

"Rolled to snake eyes," Skweeker finished.

The three of us exchanged glances. McCain said, "Did ya do it, Marconi?"

He gave her a once-over. "'Course I din't do it, McCain! I never even knew th' kid, much less wanted ta kill 'im!"

"But what about th' police chief's son, huh?" she asked, choking up, looking him dead in the eyes. "What if this one was unintentional like that one?"

Marconi took McCain by the shoulders. "Don't stir up dat old mem'ry, McCain! Don't! Y'know I ain't never gonna forgive myself fer dat! Why would I go an' do somet'in' stupid like dat again?"

A tear rolled down Skweeker's cheek. "I'm sorry, Greyson, it's just...oh, I dunno what it is."

Marconi pulled her into a hug and I sat down on the sofa, feeling odd and out of place. I knew that I wasn't a favorite person of either of them, and that made being there all the worse. I wanted to leave, but there was nowhere for me to go; it didn't help that I didn't know my way around the Bronx.

"McCartney?"

I looked up at Greyson. "Why're ya helpin' me?"

I shrugged, looking into his eyes. "Well, I mean, you got me out of the Refuge..."

Nodding, he said, "Well, t'ree people's better dan two. Looks like me an' McCain's gonna need all th' help we can get."

"Yeah..." I trailed off, unsure of what to say to him.

"Well, we need ta get some sleep so's later we can figure out what ta do 'bout th' whole situation. McCartney, you an' McCain take th' bed, an' I'll take th' couch," Marconi ordered.

Skweeker and I obeyed, and soon all the lamps were out and we lay there in silence.

"I can't sleep," Skweeker announced.

"Neither can I," Marconi agreed.

"Same," I added.

"Well..." Skweeker trailed off. "What should we do?"

Marconi laughed, pain and anxiety apparent in his voice. "Skweeker McCain, I've nevah in my life hoid you ask anybody what ta do!"

"Well, ain't this a unique situation?" she snapped. "Seriously."

"Well, it would do no good to go to the authorities," I said.

"Oh, how'd ya come up wid that bright t'ought?!" McCain smarted.

"Cool it, McCain, she's right," Marconi sighed. "We can't go ta nobody."

It was silent for some time after that, the three of us thinking over what we should do. Finally, Marconi broke the silence: "I'll turn myself in."