The garish, neon-lighted razzle-dazzle of Times Square was Bart Hardin's front doorstep. Tourists, drug-pushers, floozies, horse-players, hipsters and mobsters were his neighbors. So when a man got shot in the flea circus downstairs from Hardin's apartment, it wasn't news—even on Christmas Eve. But when Lieutenant Romano charged Hardin with the killing, that was different. Two murders and a kidnapping later, Hardin was in the worst trouble of his life.