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minion. Wyatt had moved to shake the hand of an
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    attractive, serious-looking blonde who seemed vaguely familiar. He put his left hand on her shoulder and bent to say something in her ear. Elwood was cutting a swath through the buffet. Tippen was trying to flirt with a waitress who was looking at him as if she'd Just stepped in something.
    It'd be last call before they missed him. And then missing him would be just a fleeting thought.
    Mere's Kovac? Gone? Pass the beer nuts. He started for the door.
    "You were the best fuckin'badge on the job!" a drunken voice bellowed. "The man who don't think so can talk to me! Come on! Come on! Id give Ace Wyatt my goddamn legs!" he shouted.
    The drunk sat in a wheelchair that teetered on the top of three shallow steps leading down to the main bar, where Wyatt stood. The drunk had no legs to give. His had been useless for twenty years. There was nothing left of them but spindly bone and atrophied muscle. In contrast, his face was full and red, his upper body a barrel.
    Kovac shook his head and took a step toward the wheelchair, trying to catch the old man's attention.
    "Hey, Mikey! No one's arguing," he said.
    Mike Fallon looked at him without recognition, his eyes glassy with tears. "He's a fucking hero! Don't try to say different!" he said angrily. He swung an arm in Wyatt's direction. "I love that man! I love that man like a son!"
    The old man's voice broke on the last word, his face contorting with an inner pain that had nothing to do with the amount of Old Crow he'd put away in the past few hours.
    Wyatt lost his glamour grin and started toward Mike Fallon just as Fallon's left hand landed on the wheel of his chair. Kovac leapt forward, crashing into another drunk.
    The chair pitched down the steps and spilled its occupant. Mike Fallon hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.
    Kovac pushed the drunk aside and hustled down the steps. The crowd had cleared back in surprise.Wyatt stood frozen ten feet away, frowning as he stared down at Mike Fallon.
    Kovac dropped down to one knee. "Hey, Mikey, let's get you off your face.You've got it confused with your ass again."
    Someone righted the wheelchair. The old man rolled over onto his back and made a pathetic attempt to sit up, flopping on the floor like
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    a beached seal, tears pouring down the sides of his face. A guy Kovac knew from robbery took one side while Kovac took the other, and together they hoisted Fallon back into his chair.
    The people standing nearby turned away, embarrassed for the old man. Fallon hung his head in abject humiliation-a sight Kovac had never wished to see.
    He'd known Mike Fallon since day one on the job. Back then, every patrol cop in
Minneapolis had known Iron Mike. They had followed his example and his orders. And a good lot of them had cried like babies when Mike Fallon was gunned down. But to see him like this-broken in every waywas a heartbreak.
    Kovac knelt beside the wheelchair and put a hand on Fallon's shoulder. "Come on, Mike. Let's call it a night, huh? I'll drive you home."
    "You all right, Mike?"Ace Wyatt asked woodenly, stepping up at last. Fallon held a shaking hand out to him but couldn't bring himself to look up, even when Wyatt took hold. His voice was tight and raw. "I love you like a brother, Ace. Like a son. More.You know, I can't say"
    "You don't have to say, Mike. Don't."
    "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," the old man mumbled over and over, bringing his other hand up to cover his face. Snot ran in an elastic string from his nose to his lap. He had wet his pants.
    In his peripheral vision, Kovac could see the newsies creeping in like vultures.
    "I'll see he gets home," he said to Wyatt as he rose.
    Wyatt stared down at Mike Fallon. "Thanks, Sam," he murmured. "You're a good man."
    "I'm a fucking sap. But what else have I got to do with my time?" The blonde had vanished, but the brunette from TV sidled up to Wyatt again. "Is this Mike Fallon? Officer Fallon from