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was on the ground.”
    “How do you know the kid didn’t attack him while you weren’t looking?”
    “Look, I don’t know exactly what happened, but the kid never went near enough to do what they say. You all ain’t been writin’ the truth.”
    “I write facts,” Alex said. “The truth is different.”
    “The truth is the truth.” Downton leaned back and looked around the coffee shop.
    Alex usually knew if a source was lying within a few minutes, but he was still unsure about Downton. He looked down at the man’s tattooed wrist.
    “Prison number,” Downton said. “Did three years at Eastern, upstate.”
    “For what?”
    “Didn’t do it.”
    “What were you convicted of?”
    “Assault.”
    Alex leaned back in his chair. “Look, I appreciate you coming forward, but I need another source on this, someone who will go on record and isn’t a . . . well, someone who will go on record.”
    Downton looked at the table.
    “What’s wrong?” Alex asked.
    Downton closed his eyes, then opened them. “You ever dunk a basketball?”
    “What?”
    “You know that feelin’ you get when your daddy is proud of you? First time I dunked a ball I was thirteen years old. It was my birthday and I got a real leather ball from my daddy. Was the only kid on the block who had one and he took me to the park and I dunked it. He looked at me like I was somethin’ and my chest got all warm and I felt like I could do anything.”
    Alex nodded. “Yeah, I know that feeling.”
    “I knew then that he would sit courtside and watch me play at The Garden someday. Then he died and, well . . . ” Downton went quiet and ran his fingers along the grain of the wooden table.
    “My father died, too,” Alex said. “And my mother.”
    “How?” Downton asked.
    Alex sipped his coffee. “You have any kids?”
    Downton smiled. “Had a wife. Left me when I did the bit upstate. She never minded the dealin’. Never did more than sell twenty-sacks to rich teenagers. But she couldn’t stick with it when I went upstate. Gotta daughter who’s grown now. Lives up in Queens near my mama.”
    “You seem like you have something else to say.”
    Downton looked into Alex’s eyes, then stared down into his coffee cup. “There’s a video,” he said quietly.
    “Of what?”
    “The night. The kid. You know, the night in the park.”
    Alex shot up in his seat. “What?”
    “You need another source, right? I don’t have another source for you, but I’ve got a video.”
    “What? What’s on it? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
    Downton scanned the coffee shop. “Well, didn’t want to give it up. Could be bad for me. I told them I don’t have it.”
    Alex finished his coffee in one long sip. “Told who? What are you talking about?”
    “I’ll tell you everything, but you gotta do something for me.”
    “What?”
    “Get me into a Knicks practice. Want to see how it looks from down on the floor.”
    Alex reached into his bag and took out his mini tape recorder. He set it on the table. “Okay, but let’s start from the beginning.”

Chapter Fifteen
    “NEED EVERYTHING ON Demarcus Downton!” Alex called, approaching a desk in a dark corner of the thirtieth floor.
    James Stacy sat, headphones on, staring at two giant computer screens, his desk littered with papers, chip bags, and soda bottles. His wide back spilled over both sides of the chair. He was a college dropout who had been at The Standard about a year, and looked like he was still a teenager to Alex, but he could always find things online that Alex couldn’t.
    “Hey Jaaa-aaames.” Alex stood behind him, pulling the headphone away from his left ear. “Helloooooo?”
    As James turned, the chair squeaked and buckled under his weight. His skin was pasty white, his blond hair tied into a long, messy ponytail. He pulled the headphones off and waved Alex away.
    “What’s that case thing?” Alex asked, pointing to a white device on James’s desk.
    “An iPod.