“Bullshit.”

Mack took hold of the waist chains. “I’m gonna trust you. You try and rush the door, Fong’s gonna cap your ass. You hear that, Fong?”

“I got your back, bro.”

Q watched intently, fear creeping into his expression as Mack unhooked the waist chain. Mack went down in a vulnerable position to take off the shackles. I could’ve taken him then, no problem, gotten his gun. But I’d given him my word.

Over at the door someone tried to come in. The door banged into Fong’s back. He didn’t turn to look and leaned into the door. The person on the other side said, “Hey.”

Q opened his mouth to scream for help. I was on him, one hand on his mouth, the other clamped down tight on his throat. His eyes bulged white. I slowly moved my face down close to his ear, whispered, “You know what they got me on?” He had to understand I was desperate and would do anything that needed to be done.

He shook his head, no.

“Multiple counts of murder that I didn’t do, multiple counts of kidnap that I did do. They booked me for kidnap and train robbery. I’m already on parole if you didn’t already know. I got nothing to lose. And you know what? I’m tired of your ass slingin’ rock to all the kids on the street. I’m tired in general of you as a human being. You have no redeeming value and make no contribution to the human race. The key here, if you haven’t picked up on it, is that I have nothing to lose. I’ll give you one chance, just one. When I take my hand away, you tell me where we can lay our hands on Ruben the Cuban, and I’ll think about not snapping your neck like a pencil-necked yard-bird.” I kept my hand over his mouth a couple of seconds longer. I smelled urine. “You going to tell me what I want to know?”

He nodded his head. I took my hand away. Q gulped and gasped. “He layin’ his head over ta Shawntay’s.”

“Where does this Shawntay live?”

“Two, three houses other side of Hawkin’s Market. You know the place, tween hunert-and-fifteen and Avalon.”

“He better be there.”

“Swear to God, he stay dere. But he in and out all the time, I cain’t gearuntee he gonna be dere.”

“Listen to me,” I said. “I’m going to the same joint you’re going to eventually end up in. If you’re not straight up, I’ll take care of it later.” I backed up, turned, and walked to the door. Mack held up the chains. I stood between Fong and Mack. Fong brought his gun up and pointed it at my face. The threat wasn’t there. I knew he wasn’t going to shoot. I raised my arms so Mack could put on the waist chain. “Is this really necessary? I gave you my word.”

Mack answered by swinging the chain around my waist and hooking it up. While he did, Q recovered some of his balls, said, “Why you want Ruben so bad?”

No one answered him.

“He do sumthin’ real bad?”

Again, no one answered.

Chapter Forty-Two

No one spoke on the way over to Shawntay’s. In the dark, the place sat steeped in a cold mist that hung in the night air. Shawntay’s, like all the other homes on the street, was a mangy, broken-down, two-story craftsman that needed fresh paint and shingles and windows to replace the holes with cardboard shoved in them. The grass and shrubs and trees were in violent revolt. The only thing warm about anything in the neighborhood came from the yellow-orange glow that escaped out of slits from the window shades and meant someone was home.

Mack knew the risks of losing Ruben, especially if we just ambled up like the Avon lady and rang the bell. Someone had to cover the back. The highest percentage of chance for action always came from the back. The suspect would smell cop and flee in the opposite direction. Mack parked five houses down, turned off the headlights and the engine. We sat and listened to the car tick as it cooled, no one saying what was obviously on our minds.

“Fong, you take the back. I take the skillet with me.” Fong didn’t reply. They sat unmoving for a long beat. Fong and Mack had done this before. They knew how to take down an armed and dangerous without any more planning than deciding front or back. Right now what to do with their extra baggage gave them pause. They’d worked as a team for a while, so that without any cue, they opened their doors at the same time. Fong opened my door, said to Mack who came around the front of the car, “We put him in the trunk; we won’t have to worry about him.”

Mack grunted. “Just take the back, okay.” Fong moved off into the dark a little miffed. I watched him go, waited for him to look back at us one last time. He didn’t. Outside the warm car, the insidious cold seeped into muscle first, then into bone until my teeth chattered in unison with my chains.

“Come on.”

I followed Mack who took several steps and then must’ve remembered I wasn’t a member of his team. He waited for me to catch up and move ahead so he could watch. I made a hell of a noise going down the sidewalk. “This isn’t a smart move. Come on, take these off. I told you I promise I won’t run.”

“Pull those chains in tight so they don’t rattle so much.” We kept moving. I tried what he said. I needed him on my side. If we caught Ruben and made him for the killings a big part of my problem would melt away.

A tall untrimmed hedge on both sides of the front walk had mostly grown together, six, eight-feet high ran right up to the front door. The unkempt center left little room to pass. The sleeves of my shirt turned wet from the dew as we passed through. Two concrete steps led up to a tired wooden stoop.

The thick front door abruptly opened. Orange light spilled out. We both stood at the bottom of the steps still in the hedge tunnel. The man coming out moved in wisps of white smoke that filled the air with a harsh chemical scent, rock coke, his back to us, his jovial mood apparent as he waved good-bye to well-wishers.

Two things happened all at once. I heard Mack’s gun clear leather as he shouldered me out of the way. With nowhere to go, I got shoved into the hedge. Mack put one foot up on the second concrete step, grabbed the thin black man by the back of his neck, and pulled him down to our level. The man yelped like a kicked dog. The well-wishers inside behind the closed door missed the action outside and moved deeper into the house. They hadn’t heard the snatch. Mack’s latest prey was shoved into the hedge next to me, the pencil-thin light from between the window covering worked like a laser scanning the man’s features. Our shoulders touched. He tried to squirm away from me, his eyes wide in terror, more afraid of me than the large handgun Mack shoved up under his chin. You would’ve thought I was a thirty-foot boa constrictor, maw wide about to swallow him whole.

“This him?” Mack hissed.

“No.”

Mack looked back at Thin Man. “Who’s in the house?”

He didn’t answer, didn’t look at Mack, and kept his gaze on me.

I said, “I know you, son?”

Thin Man nodded.

Mack shoved the gun upward until Thin Man’s chin pointed almost straight up at the stars. “Answer me, asshole.”

“Ease off him,” I said.

A long couple of seconds passed. Mack backed off.

“Where do I know you from?”

“The ’hood,” Thin Man’s voice croaked with fear.

“I know that, son. Where? What’s your name?”

“Fo’ years ago August tenth, you caught me stealin’ in an alley and damn near beat me ta deaf.”

“That’s not the whole story. What happened? I didn’t just—”

“This ain’t old home week,” Mack said. “Tell me who’s in the house.”

Thin Man continued, wanting to answer anything I asked. “Had me a slew a DVDs in a bag, in da alley. You caught me, beat the hell outta me fo being strapped.”

I nodded. “Who’s in the house?”

“Shawntay, Deewayne, that dumbass Franklin, and his bitch, Greta.”

Mack knew better now and kept quiet.

I asked, “What about Ruben the Cuban?”