"He's dead," Sway said, when he picked up the phone.
(First of all, who the heck is Interested Observer? That person has better sources than I do.)
Anyhow, here's a sampling of what I know. Maybe the key figures will log on later and fill us in further.
Sway and 'Berg both arrived in Georgetown somewhere around 5 o'clock. I posted previously about 'Berg's first confrontation with Nicky, although I clearly missed some of the intricacies. As for me, I arrived in Georgetown around 7 p.m., and ate dinner at Vietnam Georgetown with my wife and some friends. I texted Sway to let him know where I was, but he misunderstood and thought Nick was eating dinner there, so he ended up spying on us eating dinner. Weird. I'm telling you, that guy is good at what he does.
Two Thirds, meantime, was stuck at his bar, T.T. Reynolds, working a Friday night. Here's a text he sent me, minus a few spelling mishaps:
I'd like to be referred to as Dos/Tres for the remainder of the hunt after Chad Johnson's Ocho Cinco. And security at TT's is at code red, expecting imminent attack.
So I thought the action might be moving to Fairfax. But right around this time, Iceberg--using a previously unknown car--got a read on Nicky. He had a friend posing as him, and they closed in on Nicky's posse. But Nicky had a scout, who loudly called out the following warning: "Man on!" I swear. How great is that?
Iceberg chased Nicky and, he thinks, Devon McTavish, on foot, across four city blocks.
"[Bleepin'] world class athlete, man," Iceberg lamented later. "And I'm some [bleepin'] meatball from Centreville."
Anyhow, Nicky and Devon ducked into a car, and Iceberg got there not long after, but he was winded, and he leaned against the hood of the car. Iceberg wanted to laugh about it. The guys wanted to take off. So they started driving with Iceberg on the hood. At some point they pulled over and Iceberg tried to climb inside and they took off again and Iceberg tumbled and wound up a little banged up. I saw him an hour or so later, nursing his wounds in a bar. He was holed up in a corner. He wouldn't let anyone stand in his line of sight. His jeans were ripped, badly, in multiple places. His left wrist was bleeding, and he had scratches up and down one leg. He also said he had banged his head.
"The decent thing would be for them to let me get him in the end," Iceberg said. "That would be the decent thing."
But he wasn't mad at Nicky. He was still plotting. I took a few photos, and left Iceberg to recuperate. In the same bar, I met Matahari, a formerly eliminated but deadly stalker whom Roche had apparently let back in the game. She was with someone whom I later understood to be her brother. Her brother asked me where Nicky was. Not in the world's friendliest tone of voice, either. I feared I was getting in too deep.
Anyhow, as this was going on, Sway had somehow found Nicky's wife Jacqui, and he trailed her on foot to Sign of the Whale, where DC101 was having a party featuring Chris Cooley and Elliot. Jacqui left after a bit, and Sway cased out the neighborhood and then hid on a nearby stoop. Like I said, he's good. Not that long after, Sway saw a group of guys approach, heading toward Sign of the Whale. There was a five-man human shield, with someone else in the middle.
"I pushed through some people, pissed off some girls and just started shooting," Sway said.
It was Nicky. Shot in the back.
"[Bleepin'] relief, man," Sway said. "I let out a roar."
Nicky was left with a huge wet spot on the back of his shirt. Iceberg was bitter. Dos/Tres was working. Boba Fett and Col. BD were MIA. (I think Reader Kristin called that one a few days ago.) And I'm sort of relieved that it's all over, to be perfectly honest.
But everyone, raise a toast to Sway. And pray that Gilbert Arenas is chosen as the next secret target. Now that would be interesting.