It stood out amongst the other graffiti. Something about it made it stand out, centered under the window. Bell read the Latin: In hoc lacrimarum valle. He’d gone to a Catholic high school and managed three of the words, but was at a loss for lacrimarum. He smiled: a Latin graffito seemed fitting after what he’d been through. He stepped closer to the Plexiglas windowpane and looked out on the street below. It was snowing and the Christmas lights strung over the intersection were swinging in the wind. A car stopped in front of the Bank of America, which was built on a slight knoll; a long flight of granite steps led up to the entrance. Bell watched three men get out of the car. The lieutenant caught sight of a pistol tucked quickly under a jacket. He turned around and looked at the cell door they’d locked behind him. He thought of calling out, but hesitated. He looked again out the window and down on the street. The car had pulled up the street; the men who had gotten out were walking quickly up the steps to the bank.
