N. Fifth Street, 6:30 p.m.

     Seven and a half of the pizza's eight slices sat in their box getting cold, for there was no room in Rom Soriano for anything else.  His stomach was a tight fist, and his mind was crammed full.  Clearly, the party was over.  He'd settled things with Cassandra, but the breathing space provided by the copycat would evaporate the moment his body washed up somewhere.  So Rom, having packed his few belongings, was pacing the larger of his two rooms, preparing to regroup.
     To make matters worse, he was sure it was Darryl watching him from the stoop across the street, and he was sure Darryl was on to him.  At the right moment, Rom calculated, he would take his bags and typewriter, leaving behind the kitchen and bath things he'd acquired, and hustle to the Datsun for immediate departure to somewhere Darryl — or Melody Marven — could not find him.  Much as he admired her enterprise, it was his story, and he would be the one to tell it.  This Zorro business, no matter what his course now, was here to stay, and it was better to deal with it on his own terms than become a media stoop.  Yes, he'd glossed over this part of the deal when he was busy stapling those socks together.
     Rom stopped pacing and gathered up the pages of his memoirs he'd typed so far.  There were about a hundred, single spaced, and he slipped them into a folder, then into the black vinyl suitcase on the dinette table.  At his next stop he would pick up where he'd left off.
     As he put his shaving things into his kit bag, Rom debated whether to stop at Cassandra's.  No, he would call her; it would be simpler.  He would just call her and tell her he was getting out of sight until things cooled off.  Where was he going?  Well, to . . . where?  He was supposed to be in Rome, but he'd lost that reservation.  He had made his home in Portland, but could not return with matters as unsettled as they were.  He had wanted to stay in Newark, but it now seemed a foolish, dangerous whim.
     Rom watched a City Subway car pass along the edge of the dark field, and knew that he would miss the sight and sound of them.  He closed his suitcase and latched it, then walked into the small bedroom.  He lay on the rumpled sheets thrown over the stained mattress and let his eyes rest on the ceiling, on the spot where 25 years ago in drunken exuberance he had carved a "Z."  He thought of what it meant then, and now.  He thought of the lives he'd touched in the interval, and the strange path that had led him back to where it started.  Since his fatal diagnosis from the clinic, he'd abandoned the thought that there was any plan at work in his life, only dumb luck, sometimes good, sometimes cruel.
     But although he had abandoned hope, he realized, it hadn't abandoned him.  His life was not over, and never was.  It had all been a mistake.  A wild, crazy mistake. And his task was to find its meaning.
     He breathed deeply, savoring the cool, faint aroma of chocolate wafting from the slightly opened window, staring at the "Z."  After a few minutes his lids lowered a bit, and he fought the urge to nap.  But a sudden, sharp double knock on the door brought him fully awake.  He jumped out of bed and went to the door.   He listened a moment.  The next knock made him jump.  "Who is it?" he said.
     "Avon calling."
     Rom recognized the voice.  He sighed, hung his head and opened the door.  Melody Marven smiled smugly at him.  "Doctor Soriano, I presume?"
     Rom shrugged.  "Well, you're here, come on in."
     She walked in and looked around.  "Christ, what a dump.  The Gateway Hilton wasn't good enough for you?"
     "Excuse me?"
     "That's where your pal Fitz said you were staying.  But that's not the only lie he told me about you."
     Rom snorted and closed the door.  "I was just, uh— "
     "Just taking off, I see," said Melody, nodding toward the suitcase.  "Timing is everything, padre."
     "Miss Marven, I— "
     Melody put her large handbag on the table.  "Mr. Soriano, or Father Soriano, or Zorro Soriano, the game is over, so let's not waste time.  You can either kill me or come along for the ride."  She looked at him levelly.
     Rom chuckled.  "You know, I'm not sure what you're driving at."
     Melody sighed.  "What a fucking day.  Nobody volunteers information.  Here's what I got so far: You are the guy Fitz introduced me to at the firehouse ten days ago, wearing a black suit and a matching eye."
     "I remember that."
     "Yeah, well you're also the same guy I met two days later in Columbus Circle, and a couple days after that spent a couple hours with, so if you say anything else, you're calling me stupid, OK?  And I'm not stupid."
     "No, you're not."
     "I was stupid for a few days, but I should have known the final act was played by a stand-in."
     Rom looked her in the eyes, paused a moment, then sighed and shrugged.  "Hey, the agency sent him."
     Melody broke into laughter.  "Now we're getting somewhere," she said.  "To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure until I asked Fitz how you were doing, and he didn't say anything about you missing in action."
     "Hmmm.  Did he give you my address?"
     Melody slipped off the coat, revealing jeans and a black sweater, her right arm in a blue sling. "Well, much as the bastard's been holding out on me, I spared him the trauma of having to dodge that question.  But you'd be surprised how much information is easily obtainable."  She put her coat over the back of the chair and pulled a cigaret out of a pack.
     "Well, that leaves only Cassandra who knows where I am, and I doubt she gave it to you."
     "Let's just say I'm resourceful."  She lit the cigaret effortlessly with her left hand and looked around.  "You got an ashtray, or does it matter?"
     "Knock yourself out."
     "Thanks.  So. You gonna give me your story?  I already know most of it."
     Rom went to the sink and turned on the cold water.  "Everybody with fifty cents knows my story.  They've read it in the Midnight Peephole."  He filled a mug with water.  "Sorry I'm low on refreshments.  Some of this good Newark water?"
     "Please.  Listen, all bullshit aside, you are an amazing guy, and you have an incredible story."
     Rom gave her the mug and rinsed out another one.  "A little too incredible.  I'd really just rather forget about it and move on with my life."
     "Ha!  It's too late, isn't it?  What do you think's going to happen when that poor bastard's body washes up on Staten Island or Bayonne or wherever, and he's identified?  All that's got to happen is he was somewhere else on Columbus Day, or any of the other, shall we say, episodes."
     "So what?  Nobody cares.  I'll be gone.  It'll be a mystery.  People like mysteries."
     "Yeah, well, I don't.  You think I'm gonna walk away from this story?     This is my bread and butter, baby."  She took a drag.
     Rom went to the window.  A subway car's headlight threw a wedge of yellowish light against the dark wall of Branch Brook Park as it glided northward.  He took a deep breath.  "I guess it is, but I can't stick around to help you, Miss Marven. I've got to get out of here."
     "Listen, you don't understand something.  BLT is not renewing my contract.  I am blacklisted in most major markets thanks to my station manager, who took my remarks about his body odor the wrong way.  I need something right now to pull my ass out of the fire, and you are that something.  I'm sorry."
     Rom turned back to face her.  "I'm sorry, too, but I can't do it.  Listen, I'll call you in a couple days, and I'll give you the exclusive, how's that?"
     "Not good enough.  I'm going on the air in the morning with this story, and I need you."
     "Like hell you do.  You've already figured it out.  You probably know who that guy on the ferry was."
     "Well, I've got it narrowed down.  You ever meet a guy named Rafael Gaetan?"
     Rom squinted.  "Name doesn't ring a bell."
     "I didn't think so.  The other finalist is a guy named Bernard LaPlaca.  Ever hear of him?"
     "Hmmm.  Name rings a bell."
     "My money's on him.  He seems to have had a mad crush on my cameraman's sister, whom I presume you know."
      "Cassandra?!"  Rom's eyes widened in comprehension.  "That's right.  She said this guy Bernard was all over her, kinda stalking her, almost."
     "That's what I figured.  Yet he never brought her home to mama."
     "Huh?"
     "Nothing.  Anyway, it seems your ladyfriend is center stage in this little play."
     Rom frowned.  "Whatever.  And she's not my ‘ladyfriend.'"
     "Yeah.  You were just having an innocent sleepover, I guess."
     "What makes you think— "
     "Ten minutes ago I stopped into the firehouse down the block and used their phone.  I called the Archdiocese of New York, who had no idea where you were at the moment but were kind enough to give me your contact number.  Well, it looked like a Newark number, so, just on a hunch, I checked the phone book, and guess whose phone number that turned out—"
     "Oh, for crying out loud, I didn't have a phone.  It was just for messages."
     She cocked her head and took another drag.  "I'm not asking just to be nosy, you know.  I'm just trying to make sense of this thing.  So please just answer my question: Were you involved with Cassandra Lopez?"
     Rom knew he was about to blush, and he turned to the sink again.  "You know, you're gonna think what you want to think, and— "
     "That's a ‘yes'."  She turned to the window and frowned in concentration.  "Now LaPlaca had his own delusions about her.  Had he seen you two together?"
     "Well, yeah, he could have.  We had lunch near her office.  I walked her back to her building."
     Melody turned back to the room.  "Aha!  You were moving in on his territory.  So there it is.  He was wise to you somehow, and he wanted to show you up."
     Rom folded his arms and faced her again.  "I don't get it.  How could he have known I was the vigilante guy?  I mean, the first encounter I had was the night before he would have seen us together."
     "Yeah, well, a lot of papers ran the story the next morning."
     "Yeah, Cassandra read one to me at lunch.  But how could he connect me with Zorro?"
     "Well, either he's a great detective or he's delusional.  I'd say the latter, but we'll find out."
     "Oh, shit," said Rom.
     "What?"
     "Well, if he was watching me, I think he may have seen me, um, making a purchase after lunch, after Cassandra had gone back upstairs."
     "OK, what did you buy?"
     Rom sighed.  "A black mask."
     "Ah."
     "Yeah, my old one was, uh, crappy."
     "See, now we're making progress. We know his motive for playing dress-up.  What was yours?"
     Rom sighed.  "Well, like I said, Miss Marven— "
     "Oh, please with the 'Miss Marven'!"
     "Sorry.  Melody . . . it's a long story."
     "So start telling."
     Rom sighed.  "Melody, like I said, I really want to just get away for a couple days and sort this thing out."
     "Rom, it's sorted out now, 99 percent of it.  All that's missing is the bloated body of Bernard LaPlaca.  I got plenty to go with.  Work with me.  It'll all be over in two days."
     Rom groaned.  "I don't— "
     "One day.  This time tomorrow you'll be on a plane.  Or in that crappy little car of yours.  Listen, I'll connect you with a good agent.  Let him handle all the bullshit.  That's why they get paid.  You write your book — you are writing a book, aren't you?"  She nodded toward the typewriter case, and Rom shrugged.  "You give him a call and let him sell your book to the highest bidder, and you can take the advance check and do your sorting out on a nice beach somewhere."
     Rom went to the window and looked out.  "I don't know."
     "Listen, this thing is gonna happen.  You don't want to deal with it because it makes you look crazy.  Why you did it, well, I guess you can keep that under your hat, but get ready to hear the question every time you go to take a shit.  You've got to get out in front of this thing."  She eyed him levelly.
     "You're right about a lot, but . . ."
     Melody took another drag and dropped the cigaret to the floor.  She stepped on it, exhaled and reached into her bag.  She withdrew a small vial of breath freshener and gave two spritzes, then replaced it.  "And being as I did you a big favor by rescuing you from those cops and crazy people in front of the radio station, and you wound up getting all those charges dropped . . ."  She moved closer and with her free hand tucked some hair behind her ear.  "I think the least you could do is fill in the blanks before you leave town."  She moved closer still and touched his chest, and slipped her knee between his.
     Rom took her by the shoulders.  "Wait a minute, hon, that's not gonna work here."
     "Ooh, careful with the arm."
     "Oh, sorry."  Rom let go, but Melody immediately slipped her free arm around his neck, pressed herself to him and kissed him.  After a moment, Rom backed off, and leaned against the window.  "OK, we can't do this," he said.
     "That's what you say, but someone else says something different."  She reached down and squeezed his stiffening member.  Rom gently took her hand away.
     "Please, don't."
     "Take it easy, Father.  We don't want anyone getting defenestrated."  Rom groaned.  She leaned in again and languidly rubbed herself against him.  "To tell the truth, I was worried when that guy got shot.  I liked you the first time we met."
     Rom took a deep breath.  "Melody, we can't do this."
     "C'mon.  Didn't you miss this?"  She stood on tiptoe and kissed him deeply.  A soft knock on the door gave him the opportunity to gently — and with detectable reluctance — push Melody aside.
     "Phew.  I'd better get the door.  I'm not, uh, expecting anybody."
     Melody straightened her clothes.  "Hmph.  Ten to one their last name is Lopez."
     Rom opened the door and was immediately pushed back into the room.  Darryl entered and closed the door behind him, pointing a Glock 9mm handgun directly at Rom's head.   "Either y'all move, I blow y' fuckin' head off."  Rom and Melody stood frozen, looking at the gun.  Darryl reached into the pocket of his army jacket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.  He threw them to Melody.  "Cuff him to somethin," he said.
     Rom inched toward Darryl.  "Go ‘head," Darryl said, "make me cap yo ass.  I think you the mu'fucker hit me wif a hubcap.  I love to cap yo ass."  He looked at Melody again.  "Cuff his ass to somethin' I said."  He looked around.  "Behin' that pipe in the corner."  He held the gun steadily at Rom's head.  "Do it or I cap his ass now."
     Melody looked at Rom, the color drained from her face.  "Go ahead, Melody," said Rom.
     "Yeah, go ahead, Melody," said Darryl.  "You that fine bitch from TV."
     Rom moved to the corner, and put his hands behind his back.
     "If I go over there and see them cuffs ain't on right," Darryl said, "I'm gonna cap both yo asses."
     Melody looked at Rom.  "I'm sorry," she said.  She snapped a cuff on one hand, then slipped the other behind the pipe.  She had to push Rom's hands back against the wall to fasten the other cuff.
     "Now get away from him," Darryl said.  "Get over by the table."  She did and he walked over toward Rom.  "You the mu'fucker interfered wif my business a couple weeks ago, down on Six Avenue. And you the only white mu'fucker around here wif black clothes."
     "I'm a priest," Rom said.
     "Maybe you is, and maybe you ain't.  But you interfered wif my business twice, and that shit ain't right.  Now you gonna compensate me."
     "You want money?  There's a couple hundred dollars in my wallet, and a couple credit cards.  Take ‘em and go."
     "Oh, I will.  But first I mess yo ass up, and then I fuck this fine white bitch, take her money, then that funky Taurus she drivin'."  He looked at Melody lasciviously.
     Rom snorted loudly and pulled against the pipe in a tremendous effort.  Darryl stepped in front of him and taunted him.  "You gonna pull yo' arms off, fool!"  Rom strained at the pipe, red faced, glaring at Darryl.  Then he relaxed.  He was looking at Melody.  Darryl looked at her.  From her handbag she'd pulled a silver-plated .22 calibre pistol and was pointing it at Darryl's head.
     Darryl laughed.  "What you gonna do w' that?  Tha's a kiddie gun."
     Melody stood, grimacing, as Darryl began to turn toward her.  Rom braced himself against the pipe and kicked up as hard as he could, catching Darryl's wrist perfectly, sending his gun clattering across the linoleum. Melody stood her ground.  "Well, imagine getting killed by a kiddie gun."
     Again Rom strained at the pipe.  "Shoot him, damn it!  Shoot!"
     Darryl, frozen, faced Melody in a half crouch, then in one leap was at the door and through it.

     Melody took a deep breath, walked over, shut it again and turned the lock.  She went to the table, put her gun on it, then picked up the Glock from the floor and put it, too, on the table.  As Rom watched, still tense with shock, she lit another cigaret, this time fumbling with the lighter.  Rom tried to breathe normally.  "Thank you, Jesus," he said.  "I thought he was going to kill us both.  Why didn't you shoot him?"
     Melody went to the window.  "I was going to if I had to."
     "If you had to?  Do you see the size of that gun over there?"
     "I would have shot him."
     "I was trying to help you, for cryin' out loud."
     "Yeah, nice kick."
     Rom was angry.  "Lucky kick.  Why didn't you shoot him?"
     She turned to him.  "It would have spoiled my plans."
     "Your plans?  Oh good God."  He sighed.  "Melody, I'm glad you're enjoying a relaxing smoke, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm, uh, still handcuffed."
     Melody stood smoking, looking out the window.  "The pipe isn't hot."
     Rom looked at her.  "Huh?"
     "It isn't hot.  I felt it."
     "So?  That bastard took the key with him.  Call the cops and get me outta here."
     "Oh, I will shortly.  I'll call from Mrs. Menzez's apartment.  She let me in.  She thinks you're a nice man, but you keep getting beat up, and she worries about you."
     "A felon is getting away, dammit!"
     "Oh, the cops will round him up soon enough.  I'm assuming he's the gentleman who, uh, caught your hubcap?"
     "As a matter of fact — "
     "And when the cops come here, they're going to ask a lot of questions."
     "Who cares?! We almost got killed just now!"
     "We've got to get my story straight."
     "Your story?!"
     "That's right, my story.  We're going to leave out the Zorro part just now.  After I go on the air tomorrow morning, you can add all the details you want."
     "Oh, good lord.  You think I'm going to withhold information pertaining to a crime from the police so you can get an exclusive?"
     She took another drag and dropped the cigaret to the floor, then stepped on it.  She went to the table, fished in her bag and took two more spritzes of breath freshner, then picked up the Glock and placed it on the floor near Rom's feet.  She stood before him.  He returned her look, not quite convinced he was out of danger.
     "I think," she said, "you're going to do whatever I tell you."  She put her arms around his neck, stood on tiptoe and kissed him passionately.  She reached down to grab his butt and ground her groin into his. Rom kissed her back but in a moment came up for air.
     "OK, you got me.  But I could do a whole lot better if I had my hands, you know."
      "Nice try, padre."  She smiled at him.  "No daring escape this time."  She sank to her knees.