Vincent handed them back when they were both inside the car, Ricky subdued, behind the wheel. He backed into the lot where the building had been torn down, came out to creep toward Pacific Avenue and began to give Vincent looks, recovering, getting the dead stare back in his eyes. Vincent brought out his gun, laid the 9-mm automatic across his lap to point at Ricky and Ricky said, “Where you want to go, Northfield?”

“Atlantic Avenue.”

“You’re gonna be in deep shit we get to Northfield, man. Somebody’s gonna pay for my window. What’d you bust it for? You fucking crazy or what?”

“Take a right.”

“That ain’t the way you go.”

“Take a right,” Vincent said.

“Where we going, for Christ sake? Shit, I’m getting all wet.”

“Watch the road,” Vincent said, and listened to the beat of the windshield wipers as they followed Atlantic Avenue out of traffic, almost to its end, turned north through the rundown Inlet section, Vincent feeling his way, looking for the right kind of isolated place. He saw it finally as they approached Gardner’s Basin, entered the empty parking area that looked into the mouth of Absecon Channel. He told Ricky to keep going, right up to the breakwater and stop. There were commercial fishing boats moored in the basin, but no one around, no houses nearby or for several blocks.

“Where does that bridge go?”

Through the windshield, filmed with water and wiped clear, a distant arc that was barely visible in the rain came in and out of focus.

“Brigantine,” Ricky said, “where you think?” And said, “Wait a minute-”

“What’s that, way over there, a hotel?”

“Harrah’s,” Ricky said. “You don’t even know where you’re at. Who’n the hell are you? You’re from Northfield, right?”

“Think about it,” Vincent said. “What’re we doing here?”

Ricky narrowed his eyes, glanced down at the blue-steel Smith & Wesson. “You’re a cop. You got a cop gun.”

“What’d you do to that old man?”

“What old man?”

“In the restaurant. Guy a slow pay, you put his hand on the grill?”

“Fuck off. You want to take me in, take me the fuck in. I don’t have to talk to you.”

“You got your mind made up I’m a cop,” Vincent shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I know goddamn well you’re a cop. Some new guy-you’re gonna show those other assholes can’t get me to say shit how it’s done… Right?”

Vincent shook his head, taking his time.

“I’m Vincent the Avenger, Ricky.”

“The what?”

“Just doing my job.”

“Wait. How you know my id?”

“I was sent for,” Vincent said.

“I never saw you before in my life. Where you come from?”

“Miami.”

“You were sent for…”

“I understand you fucked up, Rick. Killed some broad and then made a deal with the cops? That it?”

“You’re crazy.” Amazed. “What’re you talking about?”

“Threw her off a balcony, eighteen floors up?”

“What, the Puerto Rican broad? I never went near her. I was in Brigantine, I was there almost the whole fucking night, man. I can prove it.”

“Hey, don’t tell me,” Vincent said. “You should a straightened this out with Frank. You say you got a good story, I guess he thinks it’s a bunch a shit, or I wouldn’t be here.”

“Frank? Wait a minute-Frank who? Who we talking about?”

“What do you call him, Ching? Chingo? I barely met him. He told me where to find you, told me how he wanted it done.” Vincent’s left hand went into his raincoat and came out with the paring knife he’d borrowed from the bartender. “Let me ask you something… See, the way I ordinarily do it, I put one right here.” Vincent touched the knife point to his forehead. “But Frank wants it done, you know, according to custom. I guess set an example. So I gotta ask you something.”

“The fuck’re you talking about?”

“My question is, do I cut your dick off and stick it in your mouth before I shoot you-”

“Hey-hey, listen to me a minute, no shit-”

“Or do I shoot you and then cut your dick off? I always wondered,” Vincent said, “since I’m not up on any your quaint guinea customs you guys’re into, leaving the dead rat, any a that kind a shit. I think I know which way you’d prefer…”

“There’s a mistake,” Ricky said. “Somebody’s made a big fucking mistake, man.”

“You’re right there,” Vincent said, “you should never a copped or let ’em offer you a deal. They give you immunity?”

“I never told ’em nothing!”

“Or you shouldn’t a done that to the Puerto Rican broad, one. As I say, I don’t know the whole story. They never go into detail, they say here’s the name of the fink, do him.”

“Man-listen to me. I can prove I never went near that broad.”

“That isn’t what Frank says.”

“Fuck him-he never even asked me about it. What’s he putting this together from? Fucking guy-he’s using this, try and take me out while Sal’s away. That’s what it is. I don’t know why the fuck I didn’t see it.” He looked at Vincent intently and said, “Listen to me, okay? You got nothing against me. Like you say, it’s a job, it’s nothing personal. It’s what you do, man, you get paid. I know where you’re at, man, but listen to me a minute. I didn’t kill the broad. It was anybody it was that fucking Colombian, Benavides, but I didn’t have nothing to do with it, man, I can prove it. There was two three other people I was with all night, five o’clock in the morning. The broad was killed like at one. See, it’s got nothing to do with that or talking to the cops ’cause I never fucking said a fucking word, man. They taped it, you can listen to it, what I said. It’s that fucking Ching, man. He wants my ass for some reason I don’t even know, so he says I dimed out on him. Bullshit. You see what I’m saying to you? You don’t give a shit one way’r the other, right? It’s got nothing to do with you. Okay, then how about this? You don’t care who pays you either, right? How much is the Ching giving you?”

Vincent had to think about it. It was an interesting turn, new possibilities being presented.

“Come on, gimme a number.”

“Twenty-five,” Vincent said.

“Bullshit. The Ching could get it done for nothing he wanted to. There guys-shit, I can name ’em, would pay him.”

“Yeah, but he sent to Miami,” Vincent said, “and here I am.”

“I don’t care he sent to fucking China, he’s not paying you any twenty-five. I’ll give you ten to get fucking lost, disappear. No, uh-unh-call him up. Tell him I wasn’t there, you couldn’t find me. Stall him two three days. That’s all you got a do.”

Vincent nodded. “Okay. Give me the money.”

“I don’t have it on me, for Christ sake. You think I walk around I got ten grand on me?”

“What’re you gonna do, send me a check? I think I’ll stay with the deal I got.” Vincent raised the Smith. “Get out of the car.”

“Come on, you know, for Christ sake, I don’t have it on me. We make an arrangement. I deliver it to you the next couple days, wherever you’re staying. Tell me where.”

“That’s some arrangement,” Vincent said. “I didn’t get to be thirty-nine years old, Rick, making deals like you’re talking about. I want to see the money.”

“I swear to God I’ll pay you. I give you my fucking word of honor, man-ten big ones, how you want it, hunnerts? Whatever you say. Two three days-I gotta get it together. I meet you… How’s the restaurant, the Satellite, on the Boardwalk? What a you say?”

“Where do you live?”

“You want a come to my house? I live on Georgia Avenue. You know where Angeloni’s is? Right near there.” He gave Vincent the number, Vincent watching, fascinated, as Ricky tried to get an expression of trust in his eyes.

Vincent said, “You want to show your good faith?”

“How? Tell me?”

“Gimme the money you got in your jacket.”

“It’s yours… Take it.”

“Now get out of the car.”

He did, but hesitantly, wary. “We got a deal?”

Vincent dropped a piece of glass out the window and moved behind the wheel. Ricky stood with his shoulders hunched against the rain, waiting. “See you the day after tomorrow,” Vincent said, “four o’clock. If you’re still around, in one piece.”