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.