At 12, Miguel stood at the front of the small church beside Ross and watched Maggie float down the aisle on her father's arm.

The wedding march poured from the church organ, and huge bouquets of flowers scented the warm late afternoon air.

Several ladies dabbed at their eyes, while Madge, clutching a tissue to her generous breasts, sobbed loudly.

But hey, he'd take a bullet for Ross or Edison, just as they would for him. If Ross wanted him to stand up here looking trussed-up like a turkey on

Thanksgiving, then that's what he'd do. Still, Miguel thought as he shifted his weight and twisted his neck, a bullet...