It was too good an opportunity for him to miss. Everything was arranged; the three of them—Dixie, Jackson and Ricardo—were all set to go. Then Ricardo pulled out at the last minute. Dixie wanted to cancel the whole thing but Jackson said no, let's do it. The police were waiting for them. Dixie was the only one to get away. Was it because he was expecting things to go wrong and was more cautious or was it a monumental cock-up by the police? At the end of the day it didn't really matter, the end result was the same.

And the fallout? At first they were looking at him; he was the only one to get away after all. He asked them how likely they thought it was that he'd sacrifice his own brother—they'd seen how close they were. Maybe they thought the two of them had flipped a coin and Jackson had lost? Okay, they said, maybe it wasn't you after all. They seemed to be out of ideas after that.

Dixie still couldn't decide what he thought. At first it looked to him as if it was Ricardo; the barely explained way he dropped out at the last moment. But Ricardo was desperate to impress Chico, completely obsessed. Dixie knew the guy hated him with a passion but would he deliberately make himself look even more of an ass—not to mention sacrificing a substantial amount of Chico's money—in order to get rid of him and Jackson. If his aim had been to get them out of the way so that he could fill the gap in his father's eyes, did he think a colossal cock-up like this was the way to do it? Then again, the guy was an idiot, with all the sense of a barn door . . .

Dixie realized Jackson had said something.

'What was that?'

'I said I went to see Chico.'

Dixie's head jerked backwards. 'Really?'

'I had to start somewhere. It seemed as good a place as any.'

'I suppose. What did he say?'

Jackson flung his arms wide and sent a stack of dirty glasses sitting on the bar flying. Everybody turned to look at him. He raised an apologetic hand. 'Sorry,' he said as the bartender scuttled up and gave him a look like he was a party guest who'd just shat on the floor. You could see he thought he might have made a mistake throwing Earl out instead of these two. He started to pick up the pieces. Satisfied (and disappointed) a fight wasn't about to break out, people went back to their conversations.

'He did all that insincere hugging, back-clapping stuff,' Jackson said, opening his arms more cautiously, 'and said if there's anything I need, etc., etc.'

'That's it?'

'Pretty much,' Jackson said and leaned forward. 'He assured me'—he put his hand on Dixie's arm and squeezed to demonstrate the depth of sincerity—'it had nothing to do with anyone in his organization. He'd looked into it and he was satisfied it was nobody from our side, blah, blah, blah.'

Jackson let go of Dixie's arm and sat back in his chair. His expression suggested that he thought Chico couldn't have cared less if he'd spent twenty years rotting in jail instead of two.

'I remember he was jumping up and down at the time. You went to prison but he lost a lot of money.'

Jackson snorted. 'He mentioned that.'

'Did he say who he thought it might be?'

'He said to talk to a guy called Miguel who works for Alvarez. He didn't want me to talk to Alvarez himself. He wouldn't say why.'

Dixie laughed. 'I can understand that. I had to go to Alvarez and ask him if he stole Chico's money.'

Jackson's eyebrows lifted an inch at the thought. 'That must have been an interesting conversation.'

'Uncomfortable, you could say.'

'Awkward.'

'That too. I don't suppose Chico wanted you going in there the following day and saying: by the way, Enrico, while we're on the subject, did you snitch to the police two years ago?'

Jackson smiled. 'No, I don't suppose so. Do you know this guy Miguel?'

'Not really. Just that he works for Alvarez. I saw him there the other day.'

Dixie let out a short laugh.

'What's so funny?'

'It's just that Alvarez put a GPS tracker in with the money. He showed me how it worked and I'm having to pretend this is all great news to me, thank you very much Enrico for finding our money. Crispy's standing right behind me, remember. And all the time I've got the key to the unit sitting in my pocket.'

Jackson waved his hand in the air and Dixie caught sight of the tattoo. 'I'm sure you were very convincing,' Jackson said. 'You always were full of BS.'

Dixie ignored the insult. A frown creased his forehead as he thought back to the meeting.

'What is it?'

'It's probably nothing but he was really staring at my hand.'

'Who was? Alvarez?'

'No, Miguel. I thought it was strange at the time but I didn't know what to make of it. It's just come to me now, seeing you.'

'Uh huh. Glad I could help.'

Dixie held out his hand and spread his fingers, displaying his own tattoo fully.

'He was staring at the tattoo.'

Jackson looked at his own, matching tattoo. 'So? Maybe he wants one like it. He has to work out what it means first.' He tapped the side of his nose.

'It was like he'd just had an aha moment. As if it triggered some memory. Or answered something that had been on his mind.'

'I still don't see what it matters.'

'It matters if he knows somebody from when we were in Atlanta. Somebody who knew about the two brothers with the strange tattoo—who also just happened to be cops.'

Jackson leaned back and crossed his arms, stuck his thumbs under his armpits. He shook his head. 'It's a lifetime ago and on the other side of the country. Besides, I quit more than ten years ago. Don't worry about it.'

'I'm not worried about me. I'm thinking about what might happen if you go to see Miguel, the guy with the recently awakened memories.'

Jackson clapped him on the shoulder.

'As ever, I'm touched by your concern, but you worry too much.'

'And you don't worry enough.'

Jackson opened his hands wide. 'What a team. Perfectly complementary worrying skills as those human resources assholes would say.'

Dixie grinned. 'I think maybe it tipped the balance with Chico. Miguel said something to Alvarez who passed it on.'

Jackson shook his head emphatically. 'That's not it. What tipped the balance was you locking his man Crispy in the trunk of his car.'

'Yeah, that too,' Dixie said. The smile slipped off his face and out of his voice. 'Just bear it in mind when you go to talk to him, okay.'

Jackson nodded. 'Okay. I promise.' He held up three fingers, thumb touching the little finger in a scout's honor gesture.

They stared into each other's eyes. Jackson swallowed. He was one of those people whose eyes well up a little too quickly, particularly for a man. Some people made the mistake of taking it for a sign of weakness.

'Yeah, I know,' he said.

'I still think I see him sometimes,' Dixie said, his voice thick.

Jackson nodded and looked away. 'It happened to me a couple of times in prison. One time I was sat at the table eating dinner and I felt somebody sit down next to me, pushing my leg like I was taking up too much space . . .'

He looked back at Dixie. 'But there was nobody there, of course.' He didn't want to think about how much worse things must be for Dixie. Remy hadn't tried to call him on the day he died. He didn't know how that made him feel. No wonder Dixie lost it.

Dixie punched him on the arm to try to break the tension and ordered him another beer.

'I don't suppose . . .' Dixie started and then stopped.

'What?'

'It doesn't matter.' He gave an irritated shake of the head.

Jackson gave him a long-suffering look and waited. A look that said we might as well get it all out in the open while we're at it.

'I was going to ask if you've heard from Rachel,' Dixie said.