Martin is lying fully clothed on his bathroom floor amidst various gastric reeks when the dreamlike jangling refuses to cease.

It's Gayle. "Where have you been?" Acid.

"Right here." He coughs deeply, holding the receiver out, asks to repeat herself. "Confession? What confession?"

"He says he did it. You know he didn't do it. Do you think he really did it?"

"No. Where's Kelly?"

"I don't know." Coughs. "Who told you?"


"How'd she find out? No. Wait. How many badges with dicks are there in this city, that's a better question."

His window flashes: outside, the parking lot is raging, aflame. Explosions. For a dizzy moment he entertains the irony of the day of reckoning, then remembers this is the night of Independence Day.