“My pension is something I’m entitled to! Twenty-five years on this fucking job. I earned every penny.”

“Yeah, well, I know a few people who wouldn’t see it that way if they knew what I know about you.”

Randall stood up, livid. “You been holding that one mistake over my head for years. But, you know, I been thinking. You give me up, you give yourself up, too. Why should I even believe you would do it?”

The associate looked Randall in the eye, his expression cold and dead.

“Believe it, friend. That old shit ain’t nothing to me now. I got a lot more serious business to worry about.”

It was clear he meant it. Randall stood looking at him for a moment more, then sat down.

“Don’t call me your friend,” Randall said, but they both knew he’d given in.

“Whatever makes you happy.”

“Like I said, I don’t have all day.”

“Well, then,” the associate said, lighting another cigarette, “you better start talking.”

29

IN THOSE MOMENTS WHEN YOU HAVE AN IMPOSSIBLE amount to do and too much on your mind, you have to put blinders on. Choose the most pressing task and perform it as if it is the only one. Block out emotion. Otherwise confusion and anxiety will overwhelm you and you will accomplish nothing. Melanie understood this as she sat down in her swivel chair and logged on to her computer. She was here to type a subpoena for Amanda Benson, period. She wouldn’t go through the envelopes piling up in her in-box, wouldn’t check her voice mail or e-mail or check in with her boss, wouldn’t review the videocassette that was burning a hole in her handbag. She wouldn’t think about Rosario or Jasmine or her disintegrating marriage. It wouldn’t do much good if she fell apart, would it? Accomplish the task at hand, and get the hell out of here.

She pulled up the grand-jury subpoena macro and began typing information into the blank fields. She tried to keep her mind focused. But her message light was in her field of vision, blinking insistently. Finally she reached for the receiver. She’d multitask-play the messages on speakerphone while continuing to type.

The first message advised her that evidence she’d ordered had been sent out to her office. The second one was about a sentencing in another case she needed to postpone. But the third one-the third one was intriguing.

“You have a collect call from a correctional facility. Caller, state your name, please,” said the automated operator’s voice. Inmates weren’t allowed to dial out directly from prison. Even though she’d heard that same message a thousand times-every time one of her cooperators called her from jail-the name of this caller was totally unexpected.

“Del-vis Di-az,” he’d enunciated painstakingly.

Why was Delvis Diaz calling her? She hadn’t been at her desk to accept the charges, so he got disconnected before he could explain. Did he want to confess? Unlikely. Cooperate and provide information against Slice? Possibly. Too bad she didn’t have time to take a ride up there and find out. She finished typing the subpoena and sent it to print.

There were more messages, but before they could play, the other line rang. Could it be Delvis calling back? She dropped her voice mail and picked up right away.

“Melanie Vargas.”

“It’s me,” Steve said.

“Oh. Hi.”

“I left you four messages. Couldn’t you tell how upset I am? I can’t believe you haven’t called me.” He sounded distraught.

“I’ve been running around all day,” she said hesitantly. “Really. I didn’t even listen to my messages yet.”

“You just leave your wedding ring for me to find, like a piece of trash, and then you don’t call? That’s so cold. Can you imagine what I’ve been going through?”

“Steve,” she said, but then stopped, helpless. Even with all her agonizing about taking her rings off, somehow she hadn’t grasped how huge a step it would be in his eyes. She felt terrible for the pain she’d caused. And yet maybe it would wake him up. Maybe he’d finally see he had to do better in this relationship, that she wouldn’t stay with him otherwise.

“You just keep slipping further and further away,” he cried, his voice breaking. “I don’t know how to reach you. Tell me what to do, please. Because I don’t want this, not for us, not for Maya.”

“I don’t want it either!” she said with sudden vehemence, the thought of Maya’s chubby little face cutting her to the heart. She had to think of her daughter’s future. As disgusted and outraged as she was with Steve, maybe she could get over it. But only if she believed he was sincere.

“Tell me what to do,” he said. “Anything. You want to see a marriage counselor? I could arrange that. I already got the name of somebody good.”

Her other line started ringing. If it was Delvis Diaz, she couldn’t afford to miss him. He might give up and stop calling.

“Steve, can you hold on a second?” If she didn’t pick up now, she’d lose the call.

“What? No-”

She put him on hold and picked up the other line. “Melanie Vargas.”

“You have a collect call from a correctional facility. Caller, state your name, please,” said the automated voice.

“Del-vis Di-az.”

“Accept the charges,” Melanie said eagerly. He was serious about this, whatever it was. “Hello, Delvis. Hold on for one minute, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She switched back to Steve. “Listen, Steve, I have to take this, but your idea about the counselor is a good one. We should definitely do that.”

“Uh, okay.”

“So arrange it, okay? I have to take this other call.”

“Melanie-”

“Bye!” She disconnected him. Amazing what leaving a couple of rings on the bedside table could do for the balance of power in a marriage. It felt good to be the boss for a change. And she felt a real glimmer of hope about Steve’s attitude.

“Delvis?” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“Look, I gotta talk to you, ma’am.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I kinda don’t wanna get into it over the phone, you know? It ain’t too private over here. Can you come see me?”

She sighed. Was this a game? She’d been through this before with other inmates. Visits from a prosecutor-especially a female one-relieved the boredom of long days on the inside. She could spend weeks trying to drag information out of Delvis, only to find he’d never had any to give. She leaned over, plucked the subpoena out of the printer, and began proofreading it. It looked good.

“No, I can’t visit you,” she said, tapping her foot impatiently. “Not without more of an explanation. If you have something to tell me, let’s hear it now.”

“I got some information about the hit. Word I do, ma’am. Like, who be involved and why it went down. You need to come back to see me again real fast.”

“Slice did the hit, am I right?”

“Not just him. Some other mu’fuckers, too.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“I can’t give you names over the phone, but they gonna surprise you.”

“It’s not news to me that Slice killed Jed Benson. If that’s all you have, I’ll add you to my to-do list and get up to see you when I can. But it’s a very long list.”

She pulled an empty Redweld folder out of her bottom desk drawer, put the subpoena in it, and placed it on her lap. She picked up her handbag and placed it on top of the Redweld, ready to head for the door.

“Please, ma’am,” he whispered. “I’d be jeopardizing myself here to say anything more.”

She sighed in exasperation. “Hablamos en español, entonces.”

“Nah, no good. I’m on the Spanish phone. All the mu’fuckers in line be, like, Colombian and Dominican and shit.”

That made sense, given what she knew about the extreme self-segregation of prison life. Between the Aryans, the Latin Kings, and the Five Percenters, inmates kept to their own kind just to steer clear of trouble.

“Look, Delvis, you know the game. Risks you take get factored in at the end of the day when the judge gives you credit for cooperation. That’s the best I can do.”