“You’re lucky. Things could have gone a lot worse.”

“Is everybody OK?”

“A bad guy got killed, but none of your coworkers were hurt.” The cop stared forward as they rounded the curve, Lake Shore Drive merging into Hollywood. “Do you know how Johnny Love made his money?”

A bad guy. Mitch? Ian?

“I heard rumors.”

“Bad ones?”

“I guess.”

“So you don’t mind my asking, why stay?”

“I needed the money. I’m divorced, got a daughter.”

“You couldn’t find another job?”

“Johnny was an OK boss. I figured maybe they were just rumors.”

The cop looked over, cocked an eyebrow.

Alex sighed. “Look, I hear you. You and my ex-wife think alike. I probably should have quit years ago. I just… never got around to it. I mean, I never saw anything that made me uncomfortable, so I ignored the rumors.”

“Went along to get along.”

“I guess. I kind of get through life by not thinking too hard about it.”

“I hear you.” Bradley nodded. “What’s your address?”

“There’s a Walgreen’s at Western and Howard. Mind dropping me there? I need to get this prescription filled.”

“Sure. I can wait.”

“You don’t need to. I’m just a couple blocks.” He tried to sound casual as he spoke, to hide the part of himself that was desperate to get out of the car, ASA-freaking-P. At least they were moving fast. Traffic was light. He had a weird memory, how when he’d first moved to Rogers Park he’d been surprised to hear sirens most every night. At first he’d thought it was cops-the neighborhood was rough around the edges-but before long he’d worked it out. It was the old folks’ homes that lined Ridge. Somebody was always dying.

“What about the shots? Tell me what you remember.”

A bad guy got killed… “There were two. One a few minutes after they left. Then a pause, maybe thirty seconds or so-it’s hard to say, my time sense was screwed-and then another.”

“Nothing after that?”

“Sirens.”

The cop clicked his tongue against his lip. “Anything else?”

Alex paused. Tried to remember the scene, to envision it as if he had no greater knowledge. “I don’t think so. They were in jeans, work pants. Ski masks. The masks were black.” Shook his head. “One minute I’m standing there, then the door bangs open, these guys come in yelling-”

“What did they yell?”

“Something like ‘Shut the fuck up, don’t move.’ They were swinging guns around, and I just sort of reacted, went for one of them, and then…” He shrugged.

Bradley pulled the car into the drugstore parking lot. He stopped outside the front door. “Could I see your driver’s license?”

“My license?” His back tensed. “Sure.” He fumbled into his pants, pulled out his wallet, the chain rattling. Passed the ID to the cop.

“This your current address?”

“Yeah.”

Bradley scribbled it down in a pad he pulled from the dash. “How about a phone number?”

Alex gave it to him. “Do you think you’ll catch these guys?”

“Sure.”

Ice slid down his sides. “Really?”

“Why wouldn’t we?” The cop looked at him curiously.

“I don’t know. I just-well, I guess I’m just glad.”

Bradley nodded. “Positive you don’t want me to wait around for you? It’s no trouble.”

“Really, it’s fine. You know how it is, these things can take a long time.” The excuse sounding preposterous.

“OK. I’ll be in touch if we need anything else. Meanwhile.” Bradley pulled out a business card, passed it to Alex along with his license. “Just like on TV. Anything else occurs to you, don’t hesitate. Even if it seems small.”

“OK.” He reached for the door handle.

“And, Mr. Kern, a piece of advice?”

He hesitated, turned back. “Sure.”

“Your ex-wife is right about this one. Might be time to start thinking about getting a new job.”

“I’M GOING HOME.”

Jenn looked up, blinking away the alley. Funny thing, it wasn’t the violence she’d been replaying, the yelling and the fire. It was the part before, when the man pulled up behind their rental car. Those long moments, probably only two or three, when they’d been alone.

As the car headlights had splashed across her, she’d known what was coming. Not specifically, of course, but she’d been able to feel the weight of potential. And with it a chance, a slim and slippery chance to make things right. To change the future that was bar reling toward them. A chance that depended on her being clever enough, quickly enough.

If only she had thought faster. All of this would be different.

“Hello?” Ian pulled keys from his front pocket. “I’m going home.”

From the couch, Mitch said, “Why?”

“There’s nothing more we can do now, right? We just have to wait until tomorrow, talk with Alex. So I’m going to go take a shower and try to sleep.”

“Is that smart?” Jenn looked at Mitch.

“What are you asking him for?” Ian tossed his keys from hand to hand.

“It’s fine,” Mitch said. “It doesn’t matter if he waits here or there.” He looked at Ian. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“Like what?”

“You know what.” The way Mitch said it, that carefully measured tone, made her think he was talking about some specific thing.

Ian made a sound that was part sigh, part frustration. “I told you I was sorry.”

Mitch nodded. “OK.”

Jenn rubbed at her eyes, ran her hands through her hair, pulling it into an unbound ponytail and then dropping it to fall on her back. “All right.” She pushed off the counter she’d been leaning against. “So we get together tomorrow morning.”

“You hear from Alex, you’ll let me know?”

“Of course.”

The three of them walked to the front door. Though there was comfort in hiding here, it was still strange having them in her apartment. Ten years of unsuccessful dating had made her want a sanctuary that was all hers. It was just an apartment, but she’d painted every wall and picked out every piece of furniture, from the thin-legged hall table to the plush rug beneath the bed.

“You need a lift?” Ian asked.

“I’m going to stay in case Alex calls,” Mitch said. “If that’s OK, I mean.” He looked at her questioningly.

“Sure,” she said, realizing she was glad of it.

“All right. See you tomorrow.” Ian started down the steps. Jenn watched him go, Mitch beside her, the two of them standing like the hosts of a dinner party waving farewell to the last guests. When Ian was out of sight, she said, “What was all that about?”

“What?”

“You telling him not to do anything stupid.”

“Oh.” Mitch looked pained for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess you should know. He was high.”

“High? When? Tonight?”

“Yeah. Cocaine. That’s why he was so twitchy.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He shook his head. “He told me he did it sometimes. I think that’s what his bathroom breaks are about. But I never thought he’d do it tonight. I about killed him.”

“High. Jesus.” She closed the door. They looked at each other for an awkward moment. “We aren’t very good at this, are we?”

“At being criminals? No. But cut us some slack. It’s our first time.”

Their eyes met and held for a second, and then she started laughing, and he joined in. He had a good laugh, one of those that came deep and unself-conscious. His fed hers, and they kept at it longer than the joke deserved. It felt good. Pushed away the weight of what they had done, reminded her that no matter what, she was alive. That, in fact, she felt more than she could remember feeling in the last ten years. Like her father always said, any day above-ground counted as a good one. She said, “Vodka?”

“Oh God yes.”

She led the way to the kitchen, flipped on the overheads, then pulled Smirnoff from the freezer, the bottle frosted white. Took down two glasses, dropped an ice cube in each, and poured generous doubles. “Cheers.” The first swallow was sharp and cold and real, a pure physical sensation.