for air-conditioning and heating
equipment. We turn right there, back up and down another pitched area, then there's a tree growing really
close —"
"A tree?" Jazz said, aghast. "And what, we jump?"
"Yeah." Stevie pushed past her and started climbing the sloping roof, crawling on hands and knees,
gun still clasped in his right hand.
"Stevie —"
"Later, Jazz! We don't get away, we're both dead."
She followed him up. They passed between two dormer windows. Jazz expected them to open at any
moment. Men would climb out and come for them, grab her ankles, tug just hard enough to set her sliding
and falling... She fell. How tragic. The police would believe them. They owned the police.
Stevie was right. They crested the ridge, dropped down the opposite slope, and stood on a large flat
section of roof hidden away from outside view by pitched areas all around. There were no dormer windows
on this side, but there were two doors, both of them closed. Various pieces of machinery sat on paving-slab
plinths, humming and buzzing away as they heated or cooled. Pipes lay everywhere.
"Over here," Stevie said. And then one of the doors opened.
Jazz froze. Her view was partially blocked by a big con-denser, but she saw the shape step quickly
through the door and close it. Terence! she thought. Let it be Terence!
The man stepped lightly across the roof between some equipment. He disappeared for a moment.
Stevie was crouched down several feet away, looking at her, eyebrows raised. Jazz shrugged.
The man emerged a few steps from her and smiled. "Little girl," he said.
Stevie stood up and aimed the gun, holding it with both hands as if he knew what he was doing.
"Don't fucking move."
"Or what?" the man said. "You'll shoot me?" He was smart, short but strong-looking, and his
expression betrayed only confidence. He didn't seem to be carrying any weapons.
"I shot that bastard mayor."
"No you didn't," he said, frowning, and Jazz thought, Maybe some of them don't even know yet. But
then the frown turned into a sad smile. "He committed suicide. Tragic. But at least that means the police
won't be looking for anyone else in connection with his death."
Stevie shifted from one foot to the other, but the gun never wavered. "Kneel down," he said.
"No." The man shook his head.
"Turn around, kneel down, and put your hands —"
"Fuck you, shit for brains." The man's voice was soft and calm. He shifted his gaze from Stevie to
Jazz. "This turn you on?" he asked, nodding at Stevie. "This hard-man act?"
Stevie fired.
The man's eyes went wide in surprise, then his left leg folded and he went down.
To begin with, Jazz couldn't see where he'd been hit, and she looked frantically for the wound. Then
the man's trouser leg turned dark as blood pulsed from his thigh.
"Shit for brains," Stevie said.
The man smiled, a pained grimace.
"People will have heard that," Jazz said. "We need to go now!"
Stevie glared at the downed man, gun still pointing at him, and Jazz gave him a hard nudge. "Now!"
Jazz pushed past him, skirted around a piece of hum-ming machinery, and started climbing the slope.
Her foot slipped on a loose slate and she fell, the slate sliding down to the flat roof. She climbed again, more
careful this time, and she heard Stevie scrambling up the slope behind her.
"Here!" the wounded man started shouting. "On the roof!"
When she reached the ridge, she paused and took a careful peek over. The other side of the house
was mostly lawn, and there was the huge old oak tree that Stevie had mentioned. It grew very close to the
house, a thick branch pointing at the building like an old finger. It was a six-foot jump at least.
"You're kidding," Jazz said.
"Got a better idea?"
"On the roof!" the man screamed again, and they both heard a door burst open behind them.
"Go!" Stevie said.
Jazz swung one leg over the ridge and started sliding. She clawed at the slates, a fingernail snapping
back as it caught, but her weight pulled her down. She tried to gain her knees but she rolled instead, and
with each roll she saw the edge of the roof coming frighteningly closer.
A hand closed around her ankle. She gasped as Stevie clasped tight, and her left foot and hand
dipped into the gutter at the roofs edge. It was filled with dead leaves and slime, and it flexed and dipped
alarmingly beneath her weight.
Looking back, she saw Stevie stretched headfirst down the roof. He still held his gun, and his lips
were pressed to-gether, veins standing out on his forehead as he struggled to keep hold of her.
Jazz carefully knelt, then
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