The brothers Marco slept half a city apart. Anthony, in holding on Riker's Island, only floated around the edges of sleep. Jail was not a place for comfortable slumber. Jails at night were a disgusting antisymphony of hacking coughs, snoring, people talking to themselves in their sleep, guards walking. Jails were places where you had to stay just this side of awake so nothing and no one would sneak up on you. Not that Anthony thought someone might be coming for him, but you never knew who you might have slighted or insulted without realizing it. Outside, the name Anthony Marco meant something. Inside, he was just another old, white fool. In the morning he would be back in court. If things went well, the course of the trial would change in his favor. He didn't exactly count on it, but felt it should happen.

Anthony's brother Dario was awake. Insomnia. His wife's snoring. His bad stomach. He got up and went to the bathroom where he sat and read Entertainment Weekly. He was nervous. Tonight, close to right now, it was happening. He had made a call five hours ago to change the plan. His daughter had convinced him that it was the best way to go, and since he was thinking along those lines anyway, he made the call. Things could go wrong. When you counted on dumb people, you took a chance, even when the dumb people were loyal. Marco had a theory. Only dumb people could truly be counted on to be loyal. Smart people thought too much, looked out for themselves. Marco knew. He was one of the smart people. Hell with it. He went back to bed and nudged his wife, hoping she would turn to the side and stop snoring. She grunted and turned, but the snoring got louder. He put a pillow over his head and told himself that if he didn't fall asleep in the next four or five minutes he would get up.

Stevie Guista dreamt of water, just water, a broad expanse of water.