“I’ve got an idea.”

“Good. Now I know that Johnny told you he’d brokered a meeting. But instead of having it in his restaurant with your security watching, I thought maybe we’d have it right here. I hope you don’t mind me changing the plans.”

“Depends what you’ve changed them to.”

“Fair enough.” Bennett leaned forward. “I’ll get to the point. I didn’t burn you. We’ve never met, but I’m coming here with respect.” He spun the gun sideways, then set it in his lap and removed his hand. “This was just a precaution to make sure we had a chance to talk.”

Victor watched him move. His eyes were difficult to read. A poker player. Abruptly he scratched at his chin, and Bennett forced himself not to react to the sudden motion. Victor said, “You’re a careful man.”

“The people who think consequences don’t apply to them end up on the floor. Yeah, I’m careful. You’re Johnny’s buyer, I presume.” Bennett raised his hand. “It’s OK, you don’t have to answer. I know you’re careful too. What did he tell you about me?”

“That you had a specialized product. He also said that you may have been doing the whole thing as a con. That both the people who robbed him and the corpse in the alley might have worked for you.”

Bennett nodded. “I figured it was something like that. You don’t mind my asking, did he volunteer that, or did you have to press him?”

“Why?”

“I want to know how annoyed to be.”

Victor considered for a moment, then shrugged. “I pressed him. But he’s silly putty, not steel.”

“There’s an understatement, brother.”

“My turn for a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you here, Mr. Bennett?”

“Just Bennett. Like Prince, only taller. Two reasons. First, to tell you that I didn’t rip you off. Second, it wasn’t just you that got robbed. Someone made off with my money.”

“So you don’t believe Mr. Loverin was in on it?”

“Johnny?” Bennett shook his head. “Risk screwing me and you both? He’s stupid, not dumb.”

“I agree.” The man paused. “That does put the suspicion back on you.”

Bennett fired a grin. “If I’d stolen from you, we wouldn’t be having this lovely chat. I’d have blown your brains across the back window.” He said it lightly, theatrically.

Victor returned the smile. “Andrews, show Mr. Benn-sorry, just Bennett-what ‘copacetic’ means.”

There was a buzz, and the partition rolled down. The driver was perched on his knees in the front seat, a Colt 1911 zeroed in perfectly steady hands. For a moment, Bennett’s grin faltered. He snatched for it, got it back. “Very nice. The partition isn’t bulletproof, I take it?”

“Just the exterior glass.” Victor turned. “Thank you, Andrews. That’s fine. And you can relax now. I think we understand each other.”

Bennett picked up his pistol, snapped the safety on, and leaned forward to tuck it behind his belt. “So. You know I didn’t steal from you, I know you didn’t steal from me, and neither of us believes Johnny is suicidal. Where does that leave us?”

“Seems unlikely the robbery was random. Someone knew something.”

“No kidding. How are you working it?”

“To start, Johnny is spreading his name and money around, asking for tips.”

“Risky.”

“Only to him.”

“Still.” Bennett cocked his head. “Even if he gets something, Johnny is about as subtle as a strap-on cock.”

“You’re right.” Victor leaned forward. “What I need is someone on the ground who has a brain. Who can operate with a little grace.”

“Uh-huh. And what’s in this for me?”

“I get my goods. You get your money.”

“No deal. The product they won’t know what to do with. But money goes easy. I could find these assholes for you, discover they’ve spent what’s mine.”

“How much did Johnny promise you?”

“I should say three hundred. But two-fifty.”

Victor nodded. “All right. I’ll stake you. Whatever we don’t recover, I’ll make up.”

“Your margin that good, huh?”

“My margin is my business. Deal?”

“Sure. Understand, though, I’m not working for you. We’re cooperating. I work alone.”

“Fine. And I only stake you if I get my goods and they’re intact. Half the product, half the money.”

“Fair enough. I’ll be in touch.” Bennett reached for the door handle. “By the way. You don’t mind my asking, what was someone like you doing slumming with Johnny Love?”

“I could ask the same.” Victor leaned back, crossed his legs. “And, Bennett, you find these people, then this-”

“Could be the start of a beautiful friendship?”

“Maybe ‘profitable’ is a better word.”

“I hear you, brother. Consider them found.”

CHAPTER 20

“I’M SORRY,” the teller said. “I don’t understand.”

“I want to make three deposits,” Alex said. “Separately.”

“To the same account.”

“Yes.”

“So why not…”

“Look, I just want to deposit this money, and then I want a cashier’s check cut for the total amount to Tricia Kern-I mean, Tricia Stevens.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Why do you need to understand?” He hated this dynamic: Give an imbecile a vest and a counter to stand behind, and suddenly they had some say in your life. Banks weren’t nearly as bad as the post office, but still. And it wasn’t like he could explain he was trying to cover up the cash deposit from his robbery. “Why can’t you just do your job?”

“Sir, I don’t have to listen to that kind of talk.”

He started to snap at her, caught himself. “I’m sorry. I’m just having a bad day.” He gestured at the bandage on his face. “My head hurts.” Her face softened some, and he continued. “I know it seems strange. But could you humor me?”

The teller glanced past him at the growing line, all of them checking their watches or glaring. “Who was that check to again?”

Alex understood what Jenn and Mitch were thinking, not spending the money. It made sense if you thought of this as a game. But that was bullshit. This wasn’t about generational ennui for him. Everything he’d done, he’d done for Cassie. If not for her, he’d never have taken the risk. Wouldn’t have gotten clocked in the head with a pistol or had scissors held to his eyeball or had to lie to the police. Wouldn’t have had to lay there on the floor while his nice, simple plan went to shit out in the alley. He hadn’t killed anyone. The Four Musketeers thing went only so far.

“Here you are.” The teller slid the check across the counter. “In the future, I’d appreciate if you didn’t take that tone with me.”

And I’d appreciate it if you’d fucking do what I asked. He folded the slip into his pocket, shouldered past the line, and stepped out the double doors.

The bad mood faded as he left the toxic quiet of the bank. He had a couple of hours to kill before heading out to Trish’s, decided to grab dinner. One of his favorite bars was nearby, a place called Sheffield’s, barbeque and a terrific beer selection. He got the same warmth he always got in a corner bar, that sense of coming home. Once this had all blown over, he’d need a new job. Maybe with his remaining fifty grand he’d see about buying in somewhere.

Or maybe not. He had time to figure it out. Regardless, everything would change now.

He ordered a pulled pork platter and a Jolly Pumpkin bomber. Someone had left the New York Times on the bar, and he skimmed through. The headlines were depressing, full of news of the mortgage crisis, the stock market bottoming, the recession.

Alex was conscious of a certain split in himself. Part of him was feeling good, excited, the other part wondering what they had done, and if they would get away with it. Processing the fact that one of his friends had committed murder.

The thought hit hard, as it had all day long. He’d forget for a while, and then it would hammer him again. What had Mitch been thinking? Aiming a pistol at someone and pulling the trigger?