~ ~he sun dropped out of the western Texas slcV and
nigh.ttime settled， over Dallas. The early evening \"cocktail
pa~d es a~ong Mmn Street ended in a mucous yell or two
: anti occasionally a drunken whimper as the working folks
headed out to their air-cooled suburban tract houses. Late
supper for Some. Lonely night in front of file television for
omers， picking at a frozen dinner. The s(reets of Dallas
were as empty as .a pumped-out ell well. And atop
Reunion Tower tile restaurant revolved slowly， flashing its
Computer-triggered light patterns visible for miles around.
For J.R. Esving， this was natural， a part of that sleek
urban landscape that Dallas had become， and therefore
~ not to be remarked on. As if by reflex， he guided his
i:~ Mereedes up to the sidewalk and parked in front of the
Ewing Building. At this hour， the building was mostly
dark， the offices emptied qut. Only the night lights in the
fire stairwells and in the main corridors on each floor were
lit now， sufficient to the needs of the security force.
J.R. marched across the open plaza and hurried into the
building. His building， he thought with some pride. That
is， it would be some day. All his: the building， every bit of
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