The funeral's over. The trial's over. But I am still fucking furious about Max's death. Those damn bastards could've done something besides killing him.
I'm the only who knows about the damn bastards -- Them -- other than Pam, who told me about the whole set-up. Everyone here is a creation of Dick Wolf. Writers write our stories that are approved by Rene Balcer, the head screenwriter, before they're acted out for a television show, Law & Order. These stories take place here when they're first aired on the tube. Between times we live like everybody else.
I didn't believe it at first, but Pam took me back with her once. She has this amazing ability to write herself into any world she wants to be in and, right after Christmas, she chose to come and stay in ours. I've no complaints. She's a terrific companion -- in, and out, of bed.
At the moment, I've no idea where she is. I woke up a few minutes ago -- five after two -- and found a note on her pillow -- said she'd be back soon.
I hear her keys in the apartment door.
"Hey, Mike," she calls, "we've got company."
What the hell?
I grab my robe and go out to the living room. Two men, who look to be around Donnie's age, are on the couch. They look totally bewildered.
Pam smiles at me and I almost forget about them, as she wraps her arms around me and kisses me. "Happy birthday, baby. This is Dick Wolf and Rene Balcer. With a little work, I think we can bring enough evidence against them to convince Stone to bring them up on murder charges."
Like I said, she's terrific.