McCain licked his lips and entered the interview room. “Hey, Pappy.”

Delveccio glared at him. “I ain’t talking to you.”

“Why not? Am I that ugly?”

“Yeah, you are that ugly. But I also ain’t talking to you ‘cause I don’t talk to cops.”

“Sooner or later, you’re gonna have to talk to us. I just thought if it was just like you and me-you know, a little game of one-on-one-it makes things simpler.”

Delveccio laughed. “Go fuck yourself.”

McCain wagged a finger. “Yeah, you think about that when the needle slips into your veins.”

Delveccio sneered. “No death penalty in Massachusetts. And all they’re gonna charge me with is mischief or some shit like that.”

“Who told you that?”

“Everybody.”

“Well,” said McCain, settling in a chair and winking, “you’re right about the needle, but maybe you’re gonna be wishing for the needle after fifty years in prison. Know what I’m saying?”

Delveccio laughed. “You’re full of shit.”

“And you are in trouble, my man. Because today’s a new day and guess what, Pappy? We got the gun. Nice clear ballistics match to the bullets in Julius and a beautiful fingerprint match to you. It’s first-degree murder now, Pappy. We’re handing you to the DA, signed, sealed, and delivered.”

Delveccio pursed his lips but didn’t say anything. McCain decided to wait him out.

Finally: “Julius didn’t die of no gunshot. You got nothing on me.”

“That what they told you?” McCain shook his head. “Everyone’s telling you stuff, and then stuff changes.” His turn to laugh.

Delveccio tried to stay cool, but his youthful impulsiveness broke through. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“Nothing,” McCain said. “I don’t blame you, Pappy. Most athletes do very well at trial. All those girls swooning over you.” He paused. “But then again, most athletes don’t have their fingerprints on the smoking gun. And most athletes don’t kill other athletes. People liked Julius. Maybe more than you.”

“It don’t matter ‘cause he didn’t die from no bullet.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Pappy. Maybe eventually, you’ll convince someone.” McCain stood. “Nice talking to you. Good luck with your lawyer.”

He started for the door.

“Hey!” Pappy shouted.

McCain turned but didn’t speak.

“You’re lying,” said Pappy.

McCain started to swivel back toward the door.

Pappy said, “What’re you saying? What do you know about all this shit?”

“Sorry,” McCain said. “I can’t tell you anything without your lawyer present.”

“Fuck my lawyer. What’re you saying?”

McCain stuck a hand in his pocket. “Why should I tell you anything when you’re not telling me anything?”

“‘Cause…” Delveccio pursed his lips. “You’re fixing me. I don’t play fixed games. Yeah, I am gonna wait for my lawyer.”

“Good choice,” said McCain. “I hope for your sake he’s not one of those guys trying to make his career outta you.”

He headed for the exit. Had his hand on the doorknob when Delveccio said, “Maybe I can give you something. ”Cause I didn’t do nothing. And that’s the truth.“

McCain kept his back to the boy.

“You hear me?” said Pappy.

McCain turned again, made eye contact. Saw Pappy’s eyes flicker. The kid licked his lips, then his soul patch.

“What?”

“Sit down,” said the kid. Ordering McCain like he was used to it. “I don’t like you over me like that.”

McCain sat.

“Here’s the deal,” said Delveccio. “I ain’t saying nothing about what happened at the club. I ain’t stupid.” He leaned across the table. Far across. McCain’s instinct was to recoil, but he held fast. Waited.

The kid said, “What I’m saying got nothing to do with Julius. It’s got to do with something else.”

“I’m listening.” McCain tried to keep his voice even. It wasn’t easy with that big scowling mug inches from his face.

Delveccio said, “Tell me what you’ll give me.”

“Can’t do that until I know what we’re talking about, Pappy.”

“Man, you fixing me.”

“Tell you what, Pappy. Give me a hint.”

Delveccio sank back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I might have an idea where a certain person that you been lookin‘ for is hiding.”

“That so?” McCain’s voice was even, but his brain was racing.

“Not that I know for sure,” Delveccio said, “but I hear things.”

“Speak to me.”

“I don’t do no time, okay?”

“That’s not gonna happen, Pappy.”

“Well… then I do the minimum. Six months for reckless firearm, whatever. City jail time, I can do that. I did that when I was fourteen.”

“That so?”

“Yeah.” Pappy grinned. “Got into a little fight with some dudes. Long time ago. Juvey record’s all sealed.”

“As it should be,” said McCain.

“Three months,” said Pappy. “I get back in time for the season.”

“The boy died, Pappy. I got to be honest with you. But I’m not saying we can’t work something out if you give me something good.”

“Believe me, it’s good.”

“Look, Pappy, I’ll do my best. What are we talking about?”

Delveccio grinned. “You’re looking for someone, right?” He made kissy noises. “Mr. Lover Boy. And that’s all I’m gonna say until you get me a deal.”

McCain stared at him.

Looking for someone.

Lover Boy.

The bastard was talking about their multiple-murder fugitive wanted in Perciville, Tennessee.

The bastard was talking about Romeo Fritt.

14

By half past nine, both Pappy and Lover Boy were secured behind bars. Tomorrow, Romeo Fritt would be on his way back to Tennessee, where he could get the needle. And Delveccio would board a bus to jail.

Pappy’s lawyers, upon hearing about the conversation with McCain, had tantrumed, threatened, then realized their boy had gotten a good deal. After three hours of wrangling with Harriet, the charge was involuntary manslaughter. Pappy’s sealed youth record notwithstanding, he was a first offender. He might see playing time within a couple of seasons.

Dorothy and McCain weren’t wild about the conclusion. But Change’s assertion was still death by aneurysm, and it would have been impossible to get a premeditated-murder conviction.

Even attempted murder was a stretch.

“It’s Boston,” McCain said. “You gotta know your audience. I think we did fine.”

Dorothy tightened her coat around her body. A bitter wind was whipping from the bay. The sky was dark and clear. No snow tonight, but that only made it colder. Her teeth chattered as she talked. “It isn’t going to sit right with Ellen Van Beest.”

McCain wrapped his scarf around his neck, mouth, and nose. “Pappy’s still gonna serve time, and we got a worse murderer off the streets.”

“I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

He pulled the scarf off his mouth and repeated himself. “All in all, it’s not too bad, right?”

“Yeah… How about you take Ellen’s phone call?”

McCain was silent for a moment as he retrieved the car keys from his pocket. “Let’s go out to dinner. I’m starved.”

“I want to get home to the boys.”

“Let’s take them out,” McCain said. “My treat. I’m thinking lobster. How about Legal?”

Dorothy couldn’t resist that. “You know, I am hungry. I’ll call up the boys and have them meet up with us.”

“Sounds great.” McCain opened the car door, shivering as he turned on the ignition and the heat. It took several minutes for the interior air to be breathable. “At first, I wasn’t looking forward to Christmas in Florida. You know how I feel about Florida. Now after trudging through this cold spell and not sleeping for the last couple of days, Florida doesn’t sound half bad.”

“Take me with you.”

“You’re welcome to come.”

Dorothy fished her phone from her oversize tote. She looked at the cell’s window and read her text message.