Текст книги "Blood And Bone"

Автор книги: William Lashner

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

CHAPTER 15

RAMIREZ SAT DOWN across from Kyle Byrne. His eyes were sleepy. He smiled at her, like she was merely paying him a friendly visit.

“Well, now,” he said. “This is quite a coincidence. Here I was, thinking about you, and bam, just like that you show up.”

“Thinking about me?” said Ramirez.

“Yeah, sure. Ramirez, right?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot your first name.”

“Detective.”

“Wow, your mother must have been psychic or something. But I was thinking about your smile.”

“My smile?”

“And the way things ended a little awkward between us last time. When I got pulled in here, I was hoping that you’d show up so I could apologize for being kind of short with you at the end of our conversation. It was just the questions you were asking, like I was a murder suspect or something, and it all being done at a cemetery, somehow it seemed a little too strange.”

“And it’s not too strange now, you and me across a table in an interrogation room at police headquarters.”

Kyle Byrne sat up a bit, looked around. “Is that what this is? I thought it was just a waiting room, though I did wonder about the mirror over there. And why there were no vending machines. I didn’t have any breakfast and could sure go for a sack of Doritos right about now.”

She stared at him for a moment, was taken in somewhat by his smile. He was a charmer, the cocky bastard. Time to get a little hard, to wipe the smirk off his face.

“How did you get into Byrne & Toth’s building this morning, Mr. Byrne?” she said.

“Call me Kyle.”

“Just answer the question.”

“Through the back door.”

“The landlord assures us that the door was locked. He checked it himself. He’s been understandably careful since the murder.”

“I guess he wasn’t careful enough.”

“Do you have any experience picking locks?”

“You mean, like, with a paper clip?”

“Or lock-picking tools.”

“No, but I always wanted to learn. That and nunchucks. I always wanted to learn that nunchuck thing, too. Whap-whap-whap. Do they teach you guys that?”

“There were scratch marks around the metal of the lock, as if it had been picked, sloppily. As if it had been picked by someone who’d been drinking. Do you know how the marks got there?”

“Maybe a drunk trying to stick in a key.”

“Were you drinking last night?”

“What was it, a Wednesday night?”

“Yes.”

“Then I probably was. But really, all I did was open the door.” “And waltzed in.”

“Something like that, yeah. Do you dance, Detective? Because sometimes they have some pretty good bands at the North Star up on Poplar, and I was wondering if maybe you’d—”

“Is that how you slipped in the time before, through that same door?”

“What time before?”

“Friday night.”

“Friday night? Isn’t that when Mr. Toth was killed?”

“That’s right. If you come clean now, I can make things easier for you. I’ll put in a word with the D.A.”

“And what word would that be? Doritos? Because that’s the only thing I would want right now from a D.A. Until Mr. Toth’s funeral, I hadn’t been anywhere near him since right after my father died. And you want to know why?”

“Sure,” she said, leaning forward.

“Because he scared the crap out of me. That old man was like the ogre in my dreams. When other kids were certain that furry green monsters were hiding in their closets, I was certain it was Laszlo Tot h .”

“And that’s why you killed him?”

Kyle laughed. “No, that’s why I stayed the hell away from him. But if I’m your best suspect, then I guess you’re not having much luck with your investigation.”

Ramirez stared at Kyle Byrne for a moment, caught the glitter of a smile in his eyes, then looked down at the file. Truth was, they weren’t having much luck. They hadn’t yet found the missing watch or computer screens, hadn’t yet found the murder weapon or anything else that might help.

“Do you own a tuxedo, Mr. Byrne?”

“Why? Are you inviting me to some Policeman’s Benevolent ball? If so, I could rent.”

“Do you have any shirts with French cuffs?”

“No, but I have a dickey.”

“A what?”

“You know, one of those turtleneck collars that go under a shirt.”

She stared at him for a moment more and then turned to the mirror. She couldn’t peer through it, but she didn’t have to see Henderson’s face to know he was laughing. She would have bet that old bastard had a whole drawerful of dickeys. Care, he had said, about the person. And against all odds, she did sort of like this kid. She glanced again at the mirror and then stood and pulled her chair around until she was sitting catty-corner to Byrne.

“It’s Father’s Day this weekend,” she said.

“Is it?”

“Do you get lonely every year on Father’s Day, Kyle?”

“Not really. I celebrate in the usual way, I suppose. I throw a ball to myself in the yard, tousle my hair a bit, play a game of Stratego with myself. And then, when I misbehave, I tell myself I’ve been bad and send myself to bed without dinner. It’s all warm and fuzzy.”

“Tell me about your dad.”

“What’s there to tell? I was his bastard son. He pretty much ignored me when he was alive. And then he died.”

“How?”

“Heart attack.”

“Where?”

“Jersey, I think.”

“Did you blame Toth for what happened to him?”

“No, why would I? Did he have anything to do with it?” “I’m asking you.”

“And I’m asking you. Do you have any information linking Laszlo Toth to my father’s death?”

“No.”

“My dad was old already when he met my mom. It was bound to happen sooner or later. It just happened sooner, is all.”

“So what were you doing in that office last night?”

“Looking for him, I suppose.”

“Kyle?” Her hand slipped atop his. The gesture was calculated, she meant to show her concern as this Byrne tried to open up. But funny, it didn’t feel calculated. It felt good, real.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” said Kyle. “How’s your dad doing?”

“He’s dead.”

“So you understand.”

“No, not really.”

“Yes you do, you just don’t want to admit it. I didn’t get a chance to work out everything I needed to work out between him and me.”

“Work out what?”

“I don’t know. The father-son thing. The what’s-going-on-in-theworld thing. The meaning-of-life thing. Isn’t that what fathers tell you? I’ve always felt as if part of my answer is missing and everything else is just frozen while I search for it. I hoped I might find some answers in that office.”

“Were they there?”

“No.” He reached up and scratched his cheek. “You have something there. A little something—no, not there.” He reached up, brushed her cheek with his thumb, rubbed his thumb clean with his other fingers. “There.”

“Is it gone?”

“Yeah. The whole time you were asking all those questions, it was bothering me. Like a car crash, it was hard to take my eyes off it.”

She was still feeling the rub of his thumb on her cheek when the interrogation door opened and Henderson came in, accompanied by a beautiful Korean woman in a business suit. Ramirez yanked her hand from atop Kyle’s, yanked it away almost guiltily, as the woman in the suit tossed a card onto the table.

“Detective Ramirez, my name is Shin,” said the woman, “Katie Shin, from the law firm of Talbott, Kittredge and Chase. I’ll be representing Mr. Byrne.”

“Yo, Kat, what’s happening?” said Kyle.

“Shut up,” said Shin.

“Okay.”

“My understanding is that Mr. Byrne was found within his father’s old office and that neither the landlord nor the tenant’s widow, who is now holder of the lease, is pressing charges. Is that correct?”

“Possibly.”

“Then why is Mr. Byrne still being held?”

“We were just talking, Kat, no biggie,” said Kyle.

“What did I say?”

Kyle zipped up his lips.

“The talking has ended, right now,” said Shin. “There will be no more talking. Are you charging him with anything, Detective?”

“Not at the moment,” said Ramirez.

“And is he free to leave?”

“He’s always been free to leave.”

“Good, then we’ll both say good-bye.”

“Breakfast at Snow White?” said Kyle.

“If you want,” said Kat.

Kyle stood up, leaned toward Ramirez. “It was really a pleasure talking to you, Detective. You have your own father thing to work out, I can tell. We don’t have to do the dancing if that makes you feel awkward. Not everyone is comfortable with their body. Maybe we can just have a drink and talk. If you want to write down your number, I could give you a call.”

“I’m not that thirsty,” said Ramirez. “Keep out of trouble.”

“That’s my life’s goal.”

“No, I’m serious,” said Ramirez. “And don’t leave town, please.”

“Don’t you worry, Detective. Now that I know I’m a suspect in a real live actual murder case, I’m going to watch my every little step. But if you want to keep your eye on me, that’s fine. That’s more than fine.”

“Kyle,” said Katie Shin. “Are you actually flirting with the detective who locked you in this room in abject violation of your rights?”

“Well, yes,” said Kyle. “Why? Is that wrong?”

“I’m so sorr y, Detective,” said the law yer. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to offend.”

“No offense taken,” said Ramirez.

“Come on, Kyle,” said the lawyer, “let’s get the hell out of here.”

Ramirez stood as Kyle Byrne and his cheeky lawyer headed out of the room. Henderson had watched the whole thing with evident amusement.

“You sure broke him into little pieces,” said Henderson when Byrne and his lawyer had left and the door was closed behind them. “But putting your hand on his, that was good. Just think how far you would have gotten if you meant it.”

“He’s lying about how he got into that office,” said Ramirez.

“Of course he’s lying.”

“And how did this Katie Shin even know he was here?”

“Talbott, Kittredge and Chase. A bit high-toned for an unemployed slacker accused of burglary.”

Ramirez picked up the card. “ ‘Katie Shin,’ ” she read. “ ‘Tax department.’ ”

Henderson laughed. “A friend.”

“Or a girlfriend.”

“Maybe, but a friend who was called by someone other than our boy. Which means Kyle Byrne wasn’t alone in that office. Somebody picked the lock for him. Maybe the other guy was waiting outside after he opened the door. Maybe he was inside and our uniforms missed him. Or maybe it was Katie Shin herself. But it doesn’t matter, the kid won’t talk to us anymore.”

“Oh, he’ll talk,” said Ramirez. “He can’t wait to talk.”

“You going to do some dancing?”

“Maybe. If only to piss off the lawyer girlfriend. But he didn’t have anything to do with the killing, did he?”

“No.”

“So we’re back to my drug-addict-and-open-door theory,” said Ramirez.

“That’s a little simplistic, don’t you think? Falling back on Occam’s razor.”

“Say what?”

“Where’d you get your diploma, Ramirez, Wal-Mart? Occam’s razor is a philosophical principle which holds that, all things being equal, the simplest solution tends to be the correct one.”

“Oh, yeah? Sounds good to me. What precinct does this Occam work, and does he need a partner? Because he sounds like someone I might actually be able to learn something from.”

CHAPTER 16

ACROSS THE STREET from the Snow White Diner, on the corner of Second and Market, another old restaurant had been tarted up into a swinging nightspot called The Continental, bringing in hip urban sophisticates and high-living suburbanites. But Snow White remained what it had been for decades, a greasy little greasy spoon with coral vinyl upholstery and spinning stools at the counter. Rumor had it Ben Franklin ate scrapple there. The way Kyle figured, compared with the stylishly coiffed, high-heeled nightspot across the street, Snow White was like a decrepit old aunt with a bent back and support hose, snapping her gum as she rubbed her sore feet.

Which sort of described the joint’s waitresses.

“Here you are, hon,” said one of those waitresses, sliding a plate in front of Kyle piled with eggs, over easy, hold the wiggle, home fries, grilled sausage, rye toast. She put a toasted English muffin in front of Kat. “More coffee, dears?”

“Sure,” said Kat.

“She’ll have it shaken, not stirred,” said Kyle with a sly smile.

The waitress looked at Kyle for a moment with one eye closed and then made her slow, arthritic way back to the counter.

“Don’t deny it,” said Kyle as he tucked into his breakfast. “You are so Bond. ‘Shin, Katie Shin.’ That cop’s expression was perfect, the way her jaw dropped as you said it. ‘Shin, Katie Shin.’ ”

“I don’t have much time,” said Kat, grabbing for a jelly packet from the dispenser. “I’m meeting a client this morning.”

“But it’s Saturday.”

“The capitalist engine never sleeps.”

“I thought we could do the hang today, take a run, maybe catch a movie on cable.”

“Don’t complain about my job too much. It pays for the apartment and the cable.”

“Skitch could get you your cable for free.”

“No thanks, I’ll keep the job. And it puts me in a position to yank your butt out of a sling whenever I need to, like this morning.”

“Yeah, well, thank you for that.” Kyle looked up from his eggs, grinned. “Just when I was about to score.”

“Was she rough on you?”

“She tried to be.”

“Did you pull your routine on her?”

“I told her she had nice eyes, if that’s what you mean.”

“How big an idiot are you?”

“But she does.”

“She hauls you into an interrogation room for questioning about a murder and you think you’re playing tonsil hockey at a pickup bar.”

“I don’t know, there’s something about a girl with a gun.”

“You’re into muzzles, go gay, it’s safer.”

“How’d you even know I was there?” said Kyle.

“Skitch. What the hell were you doing teaming up with that moron to break into your dad’s old office anyway?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“There’s your mistake right there. Anything hatched with Skitch around is not a good idea. Skitch is a good-idea-free zone.”

“Skitch is all right.”

“He’s not a bad guy, he can’t help himself. But really, right now, with the cops looking hard at you in relation to a murder, he’s not who you want to be hanging with. Besides, I think he’s into something he shouldn’t be. After he woke me up with news of your arrest, he started talking about this deal he’s working on and offered me an equity position.”

“Equity?”

“And he was talking a bit fast, like he was a little more desperate than he wanted to let on.”

“Don’t give him anything.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not. It was just . . . uncomfortable.”

“I’ll tell him to back off.”

“Good. Are you coming Sunday?”

“Nah.”

“Please. My dad would love to see you.” She paused, looked down at her coffee. “And my mother wants you to come, too.”

“Liar.”

“No, really. She’s making her famous jangeo-gui just for you.”

“For me?”

“Well, maybe not just for you.”

“What is it?”

“Broiled eel.”

“You’re cute, but I’m going to pass. You know how I get at these Father’s Day things, seeing as I don’t really have one. And your mom will always hate me for that time I got you suspended in middle school.” “That was ages ago. She’s over it.”

“No she’s not. Your mom holds grudges like banks hold cash.” “True.”

“It’s actually one of her best features. Instead I think I’ll just ingest something really bad for me, watch the ball game on TV, and pass out clutching the remote.”

“You are such a model for the young people of our city. And you’re also going to ignore my legal advice, I assume, when I tell you no more breaking into offices, no more flirting with cops.”

“But you saw her.”

“I don’t care.”

“And I think she likes me. You want some sausage?”

“Just what I need, sausage breath when in an hour I’ll be huddling with the CFO of a Fortune 500 company with offshore-tax issues.”

“Shin, Katie Shin.”

“It’s time for you to stop the joking, Kyle, stop screwing up, stop playing at detective. You’re in the middle of a murder investigation. This is turning serious.”

Kyle glanced down at his plate, shoveled some egg and potato onto his toast, took a bite.

“No answer?” said Kat. “You’re not going to tell me to go to hell?”

“Go to hell.”

“Feel good?”

“Yes, actually,” said Kyle. “And screw yourself. That felt good, too.”

“But you’re not going to stop.”

“Doesn’t it seem strange that this pretty cop keeps asking me how my father died and I don’t have any real answers? Maybe I should find out what I can before it’s too late?”

“Too late for what?”

“For the answers to still be there. Laszlo Toth is already dead. Who else is going to disappear before I learn the truth?”

“Your father died from a heart attack. They cremated his body. You still have some of the ashes in that bubble-gum box you’ve been holding since you were twelve.”

“Don’t you think I should get to the bottom of the whole thing right now?”

“I think you’ve reached it, baby.” Pause. “So what are you going to do?”

“There was a file cabinet missing from my dad’s office. I think my dad might have taken it before he died and a file might be in it that has some answers. I’m going to find it.”

“Any idea where it might be?”

“Yeah, one. But checking it out would be like marching naked into the den of Godzilla. Frankly, I don’t have the guts for it.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m sending in Skitch.”

CHAPTER 17

LASZLO TOTH MIGHT HAVE BEEN the ogre in Kyle Byrne’s closet,

but he was only the second-most ferocious of Kyle’s demons. Number one lived in a house on Panama Street.

Kyle sat in his battered red sports car on Panama, tapping his fingers nervously on the steering wheel. He was parked well away from the house, but even so, being this close terrified the hell out of him. He was overwhelmed with the fear that a harpy with huge breasts and saber claws would fly out of that house, pull him from that car by his cheek, tear into his flesh with serrated teeth and bloodstained lips. “A boy like you,” the creature would screech in her bizarre French accent, “has no place here.”

As soon as he saw Skitch walk nonchalantly out of the house of horrors and saunter toward the car, Kyle turned the key and ignited the engine. As soon as Skitch opened the passenger door, Kyle shifted into gear. Before Skitch could even close the door behind him, Kyle popped the clutch, sending the car bucking away and slamming Skitch’s head into the headrest. The balding tires squealed like two frightened cats.

“Yo, what’s the rush?” shouted Skitch.

“I had to get the hell away from there before she came out and ate my liver.”

“Who, the sweet old French lady?”

“Don’t even try. I could feel the evil emanating from that house. It was like the Eye of Mordor was staring at me.”

“Old Tommy is right. You are such a pussy.”

“I don’t deny it.”

“And you got her all wrong. Cissy’s a doll.”

“Cissy?”

“She even made me tea.”

“Cissy?”

“Chamomile.”

“Boiled newt brains, most likely.”

“And there were sugar cookies.”

“Sugar cookies? Dude, listen to yourself. You’ve been lured to the dark side by sugar cookies. Next thing you know, your skin will decay and you’ll be breathing out of a black mask.”

“I had a Darth Vader mask for Halloween once. I spent the whole night saying ‘Luke, you have my candy.’ I was so annoying they gave me double just to get rid of me. You know she’s married.”

“To my dad.”

“No, she remarried. Her husband was there, too. Sid. Nice guy.”

“I don’t believe any of this.”

“No, he was. He had big brown shoes and was wearing a cardigan. She seemed—and I know you don’t want to hear this—she seemed okay.”

“Shut up.”

“I actually liked her. And let me tell you, if she was twenty years younger, I’d do her.”

“Please, shut up, before I puke in my bucket seat. What did you find out?”

“It’s not there.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she told me.”

“And you believed her?”

“Cissy wouldn’t lie.”

“Did you look around, search the basement or something?”

“I was too busy eating cookies. They were soft, just like I like them, and big as grapefruit.”

“Dude.”

“I love cookies. Cooookies. But I believed her. I gave her the whole O’Malley speech, like you told me to, and—get this—I wasn’t the first O’Malley to knock at the door. There was another O’Malley before me, looking for the same damn file cabinet.”

“Son of a bitch beat me to it. When?”

“Before the funeral.”

“So the real O’Malley came to me after he couldn’t find his precious file here. Okay, now I see. Maybe it’s not there after all. You get anything else?”

“Well, she remembered something she hadn’t told the real O’Malley. She said her husband did have a business relationship with someone outside of his legal office. It wasn’t law, it was real estate. She said if the file cabinet wasn’t in the law office, she thought maybe it could be with the partner.”

“Who the hell was that?”

“Guess.”

CHAPTER 18

KYLE’S CAR WAS an old red Datsun 280ZX, with a ripped leather interior, an engine spewing oil smoke, and brakes that wailed like the lamentations of barbarian women. Kyle’s head brushed the car’s roof, one shoulder of his T-shirt rubbed against the door, the other banged into Skitch, and the oil smoke that leaked into the interior made him slightly ill. Not much to brag about, but Kyle’s car was the last thing of value he still owned in this world, and he loved it. He had no job, no girl, no real money, no place of his own, no plans for the future, but by golly by gee he had that car, and in a way it was almost enough.

“How much farther?” said Kyle as he and Skitch headed into the heart of South Philly.

“Just a few blocks,” said Skitch. “So will you talk to Kat for me?”

“No.”

“This thing we got is going to go gangbusters, and I thought with all the money she’s pulling in from that law firm, she might want to get in on the ground floor.”

“She’s not interested,” said Kyle. “And you need to stop asking her.”

“All I’m saying,” said Skitch, “is it’s a great opportunity.”

“Dude, get it through your lead-plated skull, she’s not interested. Kat’s never going to be interested in any of your slimy little get-richquick schemes.”

“That’s harsh, bro.”

“But true.”

“Maybe, but at least I’m in there pitching. It’s easy enough to sit back and smile and let the world collapse around you. When do you ever take a chance on anything?”

“I take my chances, but I’m never going to be like you, dude, chasing money like a greyhound chasing that fake rabbit.”

“But you’re not chasing anything, except your father’s ghost, and that’s just sad. I’m only trying to get a step up here. I won’t be slaving for Comcast the rest of my life, that’s for sure. And it’s a legit thing, almost. Talk to her, please?”

“No.”

“Bro.”

“She’s not a frigging bank.”

“I guess not for the general public.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It’s not like you don’t use her as your own personal ATM.”

“Screw off.”

“I only mean—”

“I know what the hell you mean,” said Kyle as something flitted red in front of his eyes and the world slowed down into discrete moments. Without moving a muscle, he felt Skitch’s thick neck being throttled in his own tensed hands, saw Skitch’s beady eyes bulge and his tongue stretch out of his gaping mouth like a poodle’s.

But even as he imagined the sweet pleasure of the throttling, Kyle felt a wave of shame wash through him, not just because he was about to choke his friend to near asphyxiation but because he knew that Skitch was absolutely right. He was using Kat as a bank, and even though his relationship with Kat had roots deeper than Skitch could fathom, the truth of it still made Kyle feel small and angry. There was a moment when Kyle almost lost control, but he regained it again and let the conflicting emotions wash over him and through him, and then he calmed the storm with his all-purpose verbal shrug.

“Whatever,” said Kyle.

“Okay, yeah, forget I even said it,” said Skitch. “There it is, over there.”

On the left they passed a small, squalid storefront with a couple of poorly dressed men sitting on the sidewalk on lawn chairs. The men were squinty and overweight, the chairs seemed to gasp under their bulk, and they were situated on either side of the open front door, like the lions at the New York Public Library. A couple of squinty, overweight lions with arms like legs. Painted roughly on the plate-glass window were the words tiny tony’s ticket brokerage, with rough approximations of the emblems of Philadelphia’s four professional sporting teams underneath. The Phillies’ logo was the psychedelic maroon P abandoned by the team during Kyle’s childhood.

“A friendly-looking crew,” said Kyle.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” said Skitch. “I mean, Tony’s outfit, they generally put the little guys out front. How are you going to get past those bulls?”

“Hopefully, that file you found in my dad’s office will be the ticket. I still don’t know how you squeezed yourself behind those boxes in the storage room before the cops came in.”

“It wasn’t easy, trust me. I still have an old subpoena up my ass. Maybe you shouldn’t go in alone. Maybe you ought to have someone on your wing.”

“You volunteering?”

“I was thinking you might want to give Bubba Jr. a call.”

“I’ll park around the corner,” said Kyle. “Wait for me.”

After Kyle parked, he slipped out of the car and stretched, the file Skitch had taken from the offices of Byrne & Toth in his right hand. He gave the contents a quick look, the last will and testament of Anthony Sorrentino and a pile of betting slips. Satisfied, he tapped the file on the hood of the car and made his way around the corner.

“Can I help youse?” said one of the big, squinty men in front of Tiny Tony’s Ticket Brokerage.

“Maybe you can,” said Kyle. “Is Mr. Sorrentino in by any chance?”

“You looking to buy some tickets?”

“No.”

“You looking to sell some tickets?”

“Not that either.”

“Then, mister, believe me when I tell you, you is very much in the wrong place.”

“Nah, I think this is right. Do you know where Mr. Sorrentino might be?”

“Pawtucket,” said the second man. “Or maybe Piscataway. I get them two confused.”

“Anybody send you?” said the first.

“Nobody sent me.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I have something from my father for Mr. Sorrentino.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you give it here, and I’ll make sure it’s delivered.”

“I need to give it to Mr. Sorrentino personally. Just tell him that Liam Byrne’s son is here.”

“I never hearda this Liam Byrne, and I already told you he ain’t in.”

“He’s in Cleveland,” said the second man. “Or maybe Cincinnati. I get them two confused also.”

“You seem to be confused a lot,” said Kyle.

“Well, life’s like that, innit? We find ourselves in situations all the time, without knowing how we got there in the first place or what we should do. Look at yourself, for instance.”

“Why don’t I just go inside and see if Mr. Sorrentino’s there?” said Kyle.

“Why don’t we just pound on your head until your ears bleed?” said the first man.

“Why don’t you try?” said Kyle.

“Wrong answer,” said the man as he shook his head with a resigned sadness. Slowly he rose from out of the lawn chair and stood in front of the door, his arms crossed. “This is a private business, and we don’t do business with somebody nobody sent.”

Kyle looked at the two overweight men, one still seated, one standing but not braced against anything, checked the angles and made the calculation, and then said, “I’m going inside.”

“Hey, Vern,” the standing man called into the open door, “we got a hard case out here wants to see Tiny.”

There was a scrape and a rumble from inside, and then Vern appeared in the front door. As broad as a four-by-four on steroids and wearing a purple velvet sweat suit. Vern loomed over the standing man as he peered out of eyes squashed narrow by the folds of fat in his face.

“What the hell do you want?” said Vern.

“Mr. Sorrentino. I have something he’ll want to see.” “Oh, yeah, what the hell’s that?”

Kyle thought it through. He could back away like he’d backed away from that lawyer Malcolm at his father’s office. He could keep bantering with these behemoths, hoping somehow he’d pull an open sesame. Or he could force his way in, past the two cement lions and through Vern, into the office to find Tiny Tony Sorrentino, who Kyle had the sneaking suspicion wouldn’t be any tinier than either of the three goons arrayed before him. Leaving was smart, bantering was useless, rushing these three was clearly a foul mistake. But he hadn’t liked the way he’d felt when he let Malcolm push him around. And he was still pissed at the truths Skitch had hurled at him in the car. And the whole scene was getting tiresome enough to engender in Kyle the overwhelming urge to throw a punch.

“What I have here,” said Kyle, taking a step back and waving the file even as he knew with perfect certainty the effect his words would have, “is Anthony Sorrentino’s last will and testament.”

There was a flash of incomprehension on the mugs of these lugs. Then the first man uncrossed his arms. The second man began to stand from his chair. Vern pushed the first man to the left as he moved his right arm to reach for something behind him.

And as Kyle saw them making their moves, the world slowed, and the angles came clear, and he was back on the gridiron with a football in his arm and a goal line in the distance. Quick as that, he raised a straight arm and made his cut.

The first man, briefly off balance from Vern’s shove, took a hard shot to the solar plexus and tripped over the second man’s chair, collapsing two squinty, overweight men and one lawn chair into a scene of horror as flabby arms flailed and nylon snapped.

And Vern, even as he reached behind with his right hand to grapple for something stuck in his belt, was sent reeling backward by a sharp shoulder slamming into his chest. One of Vern’s arms wheeled as he tried to regain his balance, but a forearm shiver to the jaw sent him spinning atop a round table, which shattered under his substantial weight. And before he knew it, his arm, still behind his back, was pinned by a shoe, and a bare knee pressed like an iron bar upon his throat, and Kyle Byrne stared down at him with something dark and empty in his eyes.

“My, my, my,” came a soft, gravelly voice from the edge of the room. “What have we here?”

The sound pulled Kyle off the football field and back to the present, where he was stooped over a red-faced fat man, his knee pushing hard upon the fallen man’s thick neck. In a now-open doorway at the far end of the dusty outer office stood an ancient man, very small with an ashen face and a loose black suit draped over his emaciated frame.

The old man didn’t look near death so much as like death itself. And in his tiny fist was an oversize pistol pointed straight at Kyle’s heart.