The SBCC guard walked with Elizabeth down a long dreary hallway whose walls and ceilings were the colors of foul water. The man's keychain rattled in the tract of her steps.

"Akin's taking a shower," the guard said, "he was working out earlier."

"Working out? Where?" the detective asked.

"In the gym. That's where several of them work out."

"They have their workout room here?"

"Yes, but it's old equipment that's there. They're decommissioned or come from the bankruptcy estate of some health club that went out of business. Anyway, these guys work out here in the joint." The man adjusted his glasses, whose lenses were a similar drab color to the walls of the prison hallway.

"And it's that easy?" The detective was astonished.

"For people like Akin, it is. We let them train; then they leave us alone."

"Why wouldn't these people leave you alone?"

"Well, they could send someone past us. Not here, but home. And we don't feel like doing that, as I'm sure you understand."

"Even if these people are in solitary confinement and don't meet visitors?"

The guard nodded slowly. "Even then. The arm of these people goes a long way."

They reached the end of the hallway. The guard unlocked a door. "In here, please," he said, leading the way and pointing to a drab metal table. "Have a seat." He eyed the detective. "Now, don't look at me like that," he said. "This isn't your first time, is it, detective?"

Elizabeth looked at the file again. She thought, Even if I'm not a virgin in this, it doesn't mean I'm going to like it. "Is there anything else I need to know about Akin that's potentially important?"

"The name sounds Turkish but he's not Turkish; he's Kurdish. You shouldn't get that mixed up."

"Got it. Anything else?"

"Yes. He's been awarded the Medal of Honor by the Deathguards, and very few people get those."

"Only those who have eliminated as many enemies as possible."

At that moment, the door opened, and a bearded man entered the room along with two guards.

The man was Akin Kara. He was as intimidating a sight as his boss Steven Foreman had been. The arms that protruded from his white undershirt were muscular. The skull was shaved bald and full of tattoos that looked as if the top of the head had been sawed open, and the brain was visible. The upper body was also tattooed up to the neck, so it was impossible to tell at first glance whether the man was naked or wearing a bizarre patterned shirt.

Elizabeth introduced herself and began with an innocuous question. "Do you work out much?"

Akin shrugged his massive shoulders. "Sort of. Gotta pass the time in this shithole somehow. Used to do a lot of martial arts. But fighting with your fists or knives today, it's no good."

"Is that why you had the Uzi on the subway?"

Akin smiled. "Ah-ha, you know the story. Yes, that's exactly why. You have to show moral courage sometimes. Even if we Deathguards aren't bourgeois philistines - we still have a few bourgeois virtues. But we're pretty much alone in that." He leaned back in his chair. "Today, when someone is lying on the side of the road covered in blood, people don't turn away like they used to. They want to film the whole thing on their cell phones and upload the shit to YouTube. You cops are overwhelmed with everything and aren't allowed to do anything. You can write up parking violators, but that's about it."

Elizabeth was silent. She couldn't deny that the man was right, in a way. She had experienced a case herself where a truck had rolled over the head of a bicyclist, after which a streetcar driver had stopped his train - but only to get out and film the horrific accident with his cell phone.

But it was time to get down to business.

"Are you aware that your boss, Steven Foreman, was murdered last night?"

Akin remained outwardly impassive, showing not even a hint of astonishment. "Could be that I've heard about it. But it's our business, not you cops."

"We're there to solve murders."

"I'm glad to hear that," Akin sneered, "but we work things out among ourselves. If someone's going to whack Steven, the guy had the best whack himself while he was at it. At least then, he can still choose the manner of death, if we find him, he won't be able to."

"Are you guys looking for him already?"

Akin laughed out. "I'm about to tell you!"

The detective already suspected she was getting nowhere here. The code of honor to never call in the cops, even on the worst criminals, was legendary among the biker gangs.

"Have you always been in the Deathguards?" she asked as innocuously as possible.

"No. Before that, I was with the Median Empire in Seattle."

"Also, a biker gang?"

"Yes. It's called that because of the Median Empire, which existed from the eighth to the sixth century B.C."

"I see. And what were you doing in Seattle?"

"We had four doors. That made good money."

Four doors meant they had provided bouncers at four discotheques. And a lot of the money that was turned over in the joint, especially from the drug turnover, stuck with the biker gang.

"Was it dangerous?"

"Sometimes it was." Akin showed the underside of his left arm. "A guy once took almost half my arm off with a machete. Here." He showed a large scar that looked like a wild animal had bitten him. By a great white shark, perhaps.

"You never regretted doing all that to yourself?" asked Elizabeth with furrowed brows.

"What do you mean regretted? I chose this shit myself, didn't I?" He eyed the detective. "You know the movie the Godfather?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Everyone in our biker club has to see the movies. Parts one through three. It's mandatory. I even ask questions about the content. You know what Hyman Roth says in part two. When his best buddies get whacked by Michael Corleone?"

"No." Elizabeth shook her head, she didn't know the movie well.

"I let it go and said to myself, This is the business we've chosen." Akin grinned like a little kid showing his parents the sand castle he built on the beach.

Elizabeth pulled the corners of her mouth down and nodded slowly. "Interesting comparison," she said, "You're more like the Godfather than Hyman Roth, aren't you?"

Akin leaned back in his chair again and tensed his muscles. "You're not so wrong there. I'm much more than that, though. Michael Corleone is the Italian boss of an Italian mafia. On the other hand, I am the Kurdish vice boss of an American biker group."

The detective raised his eyebrows. "Could almost be considered an integration success."

"You can. In Oriental cultures, cohesion is important. With us bikers, too, and it fits." Akin smiled at the detective. "For a cop, you're not so bad." Elizabeth didn't know if she was just being hit on or not. "But I'm still not going to tell you anything."

"ACAB?" the detective asked. "All cops are bastards?"

"ACAB." Akin nodded and smiled. "Applies to you, too, I'm afraid."

"But you do care about Steven Foreman's death, don't you?"

"Sure, I do. And the guys out there will take care of it."

"I'm sure it would be easier with the cops."

"The strongest is most powerful alone." Akin smiled. "Foreman. William Tell."

Elizabeth marveled. Katherine wasn't the only one who liked to quote Shakespeare often. By now, the immortal bard had even penetrated the biker scene. "Did someone want Foreman dead?" she asked.

"I would think so," Akin replied indifferently. "Otherwise, he'd still be alive."

"Do you know how he was murdered?"

"I'm not going to answer you yes or no, but just assume I'll find out somehow."

Elizabeth wasn't sure if that was a bluff or the truth, and she wouldn't put it past the biker boss to be, either. She decided to drill a little deeper anyway. "And who might be interested in Steven Foreman's death?"

"There's a few people."

"And what happened to those few people?"

"There's revenge."

"From you to them?"

"Exactly. All our friends are fucking all their friends. And we're going to win."

"Win against who?"

"Against the ones who whacked Steven."

"And who's that?"

"Somebody. We'll find out."

Akin squirmed well out of the question; Elizabeth had to give him that. It probably wasn't the first interrogation he'd had to endure. "And when you guys figure it out?"

"We'll the right people find out. And act." He paused, then continued. "But you cops won't find out. Certainly not from us. And certainly not from me."

"Okay, got it," Elizabeth replied. "ACAB, again." She looked out the high, barred window for a moment. "Don't you sometimes think it would be easier if you let us do the work?"

"What would be easier? You take people away, interrogate them long and hard, and let them go. What's this bullshit? If someone steps on our toes, we'll kill him. And then there's peace. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. It's much easier that way. It's already in the Bible. Do you read the Bible?"

"Sometimes."

"Me too. And the Koran. That's what comes of being a Kurd. Then you know both. It's important, too. I don't trust anyone who doesn't believe in God. My father said, "A man without religion is a man without faithfulness." He shrugged his shoulders. "Could be that God thinks what I do sucks. He probably doesn't care anyway. But I still believe in him. If you show God he's the boss; he'll help you with anything."

"You too?" Elizabeth let her eyes wander around the room.

"Me too."

"Here, too?"

Akin glanced around. "Here, too! I'm fine, ain't I? Well, so-so. But some people are much worse off. Anyway, I didn't hang myself from the doorknob yesterday like that idiot from block three."

Elizabeth had heard about this tragic case before. She wondered again how fast the grapevine worked in prison, with no cell phones, no Facebook, no contact, even in solitary confinement. Sometimes she was on the verge of believing in thought transference.

"Suicide is running away from danger," she said, forcing herself not to clench her teeth at the phrase.

Akin leaned forward and pointed the finger at her, "Right on, missy."

"Anything else you want to say? I'm sure you know that cooperating with investigators can positively impact sentencing."

"Now, don't play correctional seminar here. I know what I want, especially what I don't want." He leaned back in his chair one more time. "Let's talk football or booze or whatever, but don't try to make me out to be some 5-0-fearing square."

Elizabeth gave it up. There was nothing to be gotten out of this fellow. And since this wasn't a court-martial or Guantanamo Bay, Elizabeth and the investigators could only keep asking. But probably what was waiting for Akin on the outside after long years of jail and silence was much better and more generous than what the Deathguards threatened with him if he opened his mouth to get out of jail a few years early. He was probably doing that little time here on half an ass cheek. And he wasn't doing that badly.

"Well," Elizabeth said after pursing her lips and getting up from her chair. "I think we're done here."

Akin nodded slowly but remained seated. "I rarely say this, but you're a nice gal."

Nice gal. No one had ever called Elizabeth that before.

"If you ever get in trouble with any guys," Akin continued, "get in touch with me. Then we'll teach them some manners."

Elizabeth smiled broadly and shrugged. "Thanks for the offer, but I don't think I'll take you up."

The guard opened the door and let the detective out.

"Because you don't want to, or because you're not allowed to?" shouted Akin after her.

But by then, Elizabeth had disappeared behind the door.

She walked with the guard back down the long hallway whose walls were the color of foul water.

Her cell phone rang, and it was the BPD's morgue.

"We're done with the autopsy," Maggie said in greeting. "Do you want to come by?"

Elizabeth took a deep breath, frowning deeply. "I just talked to a live Deathguard," she replied, "so a dead Deathguard deserves my attention all the more."

"You've got a real heart," Maggie retorted, adding, "Unlike our body."

Elizabeth ended the conversation with a roll of her eyes but smiled a little.