This is crazy. What are you doing? Just get back in the car. If you don’t go in, he won’t, and if he doesn’t, nothing happens.

Right, a different voice in his head replied. Nothing happens. Is that what you want?

“Put your mask on,” he said and handed Ian the second pistol.

“ALL RIGHT, KID.” Johnny Love unlocked the door to the office. “Now, like I said, this is going to be child’s play.” He flipped off the overheads, then turned on a green banker’s lamp. Dropping the keys on the desk, he surveyed the room, then adjusted the visitor’s chair to its lowest point and raised his to the highest. “You got a shirt on under that one?”

“What?” Alex touched his white oxford. “Yeah.”

“Good. Take off the button-down. You’re supposed to look like muscle, not a parking attendant.”

His hands tingled and his arms felt heavy, like he’d ripped a serious set at the gym. He started to undo the buttons, then remembered the part he had to play. “Mr. Loverin, listen, you know I-”

“Enough. I told you, this is nothing. You’re a showpiece.” Johnny sat, cracked his knuckles.

A showpiece. We’ll show you something, asshole. Alex undid the rest of the buttons, pulled the shirt off, wadded it up, and tossed it in the drawer of the file cabinet.

“Good. Those tats are good. You look tough.” His back was to Alex as he spun the dials of the safe. “Now, tonight is business. What kind of business, you don’t need to know. Point is, the guy coming in isn’t going to try anything.” The safe swung open. He hauled out a heavy black duffel bag and set it beside the desk.

“So what-I mean, what do I-”

“Jesus, kid, ain’t you ever seen a movie?” Johnny sighed. “He gets here, you open the door. You don’t need to say anything. In fact, don’t. You’re mute. Just look mean. I’ll say, you know, it’s OK, he’s a friend. Then you come around back here and stand behind me. We’ll talk a little bit, do a little business. You stand there and think about something else. When we’re done, I’ll give you a couple of hundreds, you can take that daughter of yours out, buy her something nice.”

“What if he-”

“Just do what I tell you, OK?”

Alex shrugged. “All right.”

“Attaboy.” Johnny put his feet up on the desk. “So, what do you think? The Cubs got it this year?”

CHAPTER 11

THEY MOVED DOWN THE ALLEY side by side. Adrenaline throbbed in Mitch’s blood; fear, yeah, but excitement, too, and something almost like hilarity. This afternoon he’d stood around in a monogrammed jacket saying yessir, thank you, sir, and now here he was about to steal a couple hundred thousand dollars.

The door was metal, scarred with rust and years. A sign below the address read DELIVERIES ONLY. Mitch reached for the handle, palms wet inside the gloves.

It was unlocked, just like Alex had promised. Inside, fluores cents lit the room surgically bright. Steel wire shelves held kegs and hoses, boxes of supplies. There were two doors, one a swinging wood thing that would lead into the bar proper, the other a cheap hollow-core. The latter should be the door to the office.

His shoes were two sizes too big, and the extra socks he wore to compensate made the heat worse. Ian already had his mask on, and Mitch pulled his from his pocket, slid it over his head. The cotton was warm and itchy against his skin. He took a careful step toward the office, then another. He could hear a voice through it, faint, saying, “Bullshit. They aren’t never going to make it happen so long as they play in Wrigley. No incentive, you know? Stadium sells out whether they win or not-”

Johnny Love. What an asshole.

Mitch pulled his gun from behind his back. Holding it made him feel better. Power seemed to flow from it like a totem. He put a hand on the knob.

For a second, he could almost hear Jenn’s voice: He who risks nothing, has nothing, right?

Time to test that theory.

THE DOOR FLEW OPEN HARD, banged against the wall. Even knowing it was coming, it startled Alex, and he spun to see two men in dark clothes and masks, both with guns out and up.

“Don’t either of you fucking move!” Mitch’s voice, but not. He sounded like he did this all the time, his voice firm but not so loud it would bring people from the other room.

“What the-,” Johnny said.

“Shut the fuck up, fat man.” Mitch locked the gun on Johnny.

Ian moved to the other side, closer to Alex. Their eyes met.

Here goes nothing. Alex cocked his hand back, stepped forward, leveling a hook. Ian saw him coming, moved in, right hand flying back and then forward in a blur, the gun butt coming at his face-shit, the gun-

White stars burst behind his eyes. His head jerked sideways, and he felt his brain bounce in his skull. Everything went slippy. Sick agony raced through his body. He staggered, tried to get a hand out to catch himself on the edge of the file cabinet, missed. He felt air against him, and then he hit the floor. Primal instinct pulled him fetal, hands up to his face. Through a haze, he heard Johnny say something, then Mitch again, saying, “I told you not to move.”

JENN WALKED DOWN THE BLOCK, blood singing in her veins. It was happening, it was really happening. She tried to picture it, Mitch and Ian in ski masks, Johnny on the floor, all that money. It was hard to force herself to walk slow and natural, even put a little sway in her hips. There were people on the street, and it was important not to do anything that might seem strange.

She rounded the corner, then glanced at her watch: 9:41. If the boys had gone in as soon as they got the text message, and assuming there wasn’t any problem-which there wouldn’t be, couldn’t be-they’d be back out in a few minutes. All she had to do was get the car started and be waiting for them. Her purse felt heavy, the weight of the pistol in it, and knowing it was there heightened the thrill.

The rental car was parked in shadows, and she couldn’t see inside. It was possible that they had lost their nerve, that they were waiting for her. And if they were? Would she tell them to go inside? Or would she do as Mitch had, and try to let them off the hook?

She didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. Ten feet from the car she could see that it was empty. She walked to the driver’s side, her body alive and raw.

Something crunched behind her. She looked over her shoulder. A car was pulling into the alley.

Her thoughts scattered like marbles. There was a split second when she could have ducked out of sight, but then the headlights were on her, dazzling. Her mouth went dry and she had a childish urge to turn and sprint. The car was big, and rattled as it pulled in behind the rental.

Shit. Behind the rental. They were blocked in.

Be cool. You have to be cool. Who was it? The cops? An employee? The guys Johnny was meeting with?

It didn’t matter. Moment of decision-get in the rental and ignore whoever it was, or make a stand? What would she do if she had nothing to hide?

She turned and stepped forward, one hand shielding her eyes, the other up in a half-greeting. The car was a beat-up whale of a Cadillac. The door opened, a figure stepping out, leaving the engine running and the headlights in her eyes. A man, medium build. Alone. She swallowed, said, “Hey, you’re parking me in.”

The figure stepped to one side, and she got a better look at him. A pasty guy, thin, with black hair gelled into a pompadour. He wore an expensive-looking motorcycle jacket and had a hand tucked in his back pocket. He stared at her for a moment, eyes trailing up and down her body. A new fear joined the ones she already had, that fear no woman ever got too far from, especially alone in a dark alley, wearing a dress.

“What are you doing back here?”