Every part of him tingled. The trunk of the car. Adrenaline tasted bitter in his mouth. He took one step, then another, thinking maybe he could sucker-punch the guard. He wouldn’t let Evan do things his way, but that didn’t mean he had to let a rent-a-cop bend and cuff him. Maintaining his smile through sheer force of will, he stepped over to face the man, hands at his sides, fingers dying to clench into fists.

“What’s the problem, Officer?” Laying it on, like he didn’t realize the guy wasn’t police.

The man’s expression didn’t change as he pointed at the back of the car. “That.”

Had Tommy somehow woken up and figured a way to open the trunk? Danny took another step, rounding the side of the car, his gaze following the man’s finger, ready to jump the guy. Expecting to see the trunk partway open, Tommy’s hands poking out. Certain that at any moment Evan would throw open his door and start shooting, the blasts loud enough to shatter the world.

On the right-hand side, the Saab’s taillight was broken.

“Sir, that’s very dangerous. You shouldn’t drive with only one. I wanted to warn you before the police stopped you.”

Something inside Danny broke into manic laughter, wet-cheeked and fearsome, like a little boy who turned on a light to realize the monster in the corner of his room was only a stack of clothes on the dresser.

And as he went through the motions with the pseudo cop, clucking and acting concerned, wondering aloud when it had happened, the whole time he was thinking how this sanctimonious jerk had almost gotten his head blown off. Thinking that if he hadn’t moved just when he did, Evan would have come out shooting over a busted taillight.

Thinking that the problem with the relief the little boy in his bedroom felt was that at some point, he had to turn the lights back off.

And when he did, the monsters would be waiting.

23

The stolen Saab had been pure pussy to drive, more responsive and muscular than Evan expected. He’d taken a couple of long blocks around Cabrini as a victory lap, the accelerator to the floor so the crumbling world outside blurred: a chain-linked high school, a row of burned-out tract houses, a liquor store barricaded like a World War Two bunker. Half the buildings he passed were tagged with gang symbols, and at one point he’d sent a group of teenaged bangers jumping for the curb, their shouts after him making him laugh. Call it payback for the crews he’d had to deal with in Stateville. He wasn’t racist or anything, but it was always the blacks in gangs, them and the Hispanics. He’d hated dumping the Saab in their turf, leaving it with the windows open and the keys inside. A shame to leave such a nice piece of machinery to perpetual losers.

Back in his own car, he munched on chips while he waited for Danny. He was parked in back of a gas station beside a wrecked Ford compact that looked like it had run into a semi, the front end crunched in, the windshield shattered, fragments of greenish safety glass scattered across the seat. The gun bit into his belly, and he took it out and tossed it on the passenger seat. Danny’s face when he’d seen it had been almost as funny as those of the gangbangers diving for the curb. A beautiful moment, like watching a building collapse. Such surprise. Evan couldn’t believe it – the guy had actually managed to convince himself that he was in charge, that everybody was going to follow orders like good little soldiers.

By the time this job was done, Evan had a hunch Danny’s smug look of superiority would be nothing but a fading memory.

He’d finished his pack of cigarettes and been playing with the idea of going in for another, knowing he was smoking too much lately, not much caring, when Danny pulled in. Evan climbed out of the Mustang, the wind hitting with physical force, way too cold for this time of year. Soon as this job was over, he was taking his money and heading south. Find a place with bars that opened to the beach. Bikinis that would call him Daddy.

To the right of the gas station sat a freezer with bags of ice. Danny made a three-point turn to park his truck next to it, then climbed out the passenger side, using the truck to block off the phone. Such a Danny move, overthinking things – like anybody was going to spy on two guys talking in a parking lot. Especially in this weather.

The first words out of Danny’s mouth were, “Did you ditch the Saab?”

Evan decided to ignore him. “What, you carry a change of clothes in the car?” Danny was back in faggoty khakis and a dress shirt, every bit the young professional.

“I went to a job site. Had to look the part.” Danny dug a hand into his pants pocket, came out with a couple of quarters, started tossing them hand to hand.

“Dorito?” Evan offered the bag.

Danny suddenly looked at him, hard. “You went inside?”

“Checked it out. It’s good. Clerk can’t see us.”

Instead of being happy to hear it, Danny just clenched. “The point was to stay out of sight.”

“I bought chips,” Evan said. “I didn’t rob the place.”

Danny shook his head. “All right. You know what to say?”

“Yeah. I tell him I’m a friend of Danny Carter’s, and that I’ve got his kid in my basement. What’s the number?”

For a second he thought the guy was going to make an issue of it, and wondered how much longer he was going to have to deal with this shit. A couple of days at least, until things were solidly in motion. He might need Danny’s knowledge of the boss man. Still, if Danny kept treating him like some punk pulling his first counter job, they were going to mix it up.

Danny handed him the quarters. “The number’s 847-866-0300. That’s his mobile. He always answers it.”

He nodded, reaching for the phone. Danny caught his wrist.

“Wear your gloves.”

He snorted. “Your asshole must be puckered so tight you need a shoehorn to take a shit.”

“Just put on the gloves.”

Evan shrugged, took them from his pocket and pulled them on. “Happy?” Picked up the receiver and slotted the change, his energy up. Not as strong, as pure, as when they broke into the house, but still, that edge of power surging through him. He pitied the regular citizens that went their whole drab little lives without ever feeling this way.

“Richard O’Donnell.” A nasal voice, more than a little arrogant. Evan gave him a moment of silence, let the guy repeat his name, then said, “We have your son.”

The man stuttered, asking, “What?” and “Who is this?” Evan cut him off.

“We have Tommy.” Shooting a wink at Danny. “When I hang up, you can go home and see for yourself. But now you’re going to want to listen quietly. You got me?”

There was only silence on the line.

“Good boy, Dick. Here’s the story. To save your son’s life, all you have to do is everything I say.” He paused, savoring the thrill of it, the fear in boss man’s breathing. “If you call the cops or do anything to make us nervous, Tommy dies.” He kept his eyes on Danny, predicting he’d wince. He did.

“How do I know he’s all right?”

“No, Dick. We’re not going to do that. I’m not going to send you a photo with him holding a newspaper. I’m not going to play a tape of his voice, I’m not going to threaten to cut off his fingers. I’ll just kill him and disappear. Understand?”

The arrogance vanished. “How much do you want?”

Evan stared at Danny, the guy keyed up, fingers clenched, eyes betraying his discomfort.

Just wait, Danny-boy. If you liked that, you’re going to love this one.

A sheet of icy wind whipped through the parking lot, stirring dead leaves to dance. “A million in cash.”

The look on Danny’s face was everything he could have hoped for. He went white, then red; reached for the phone, stopped himself, and finally stood frozen with anger in his eyes. Evan smiled at him. “You hear me, Dick?”