“Don’t know shit about it.”
“I understand,” Finn said. “But let’s just say for a minute-again, hypothetically-that Johnny Gilberacci was involved.”
“Okay, let’s say that.”
“If I had some way of confirming it, I’d have something to trade to the DA to cut a deal for Devon. You see what I’m saying?”
“No.”
Finn took a deep breath and regretted it immediately as the stink of fish swarmed his sinuses. “Well, as it stands now, I’ve got nothing to bargain with. If we had some concrete information it would change things.”
Ballick took another sip from the plastic cup. “And you want me to give you something that would help you prove this thing with Johnny Gilberacci?”
“It wouldn’t have to come directly from you. If there’s some way to do it so that I can get something-anything-to give to the DA, or even just to get him curious, there might be something I could do for Devon.” Ballick leaned back in his chair. “I wouldn’t be here at all, but Devon only talked to Murphy about the job, and he’s dead now.”
“Hypothetically.” Ballick’s stare was cold.
“No,” Finn said slowly. “That’s not a hypothetical. On the other hand, his death could give us an opportunity. Let’s say that you weren’t involved in the robbery, but you were aware that Murphy and Gilberacci were. If you had anything that would tie the two together-without implicating yourself-that would go a long way toward helping Devon.” Ballick didn’t respond. Finn suddenly felt out of his depth. He cleared his throat. “Maybe there’s nothing you can do,” he said. There was still no response. “I just figured that Devon ’s one of yours. He’s made a lot of money for people over the years. I thought, maybe, you’d want to help him if you could.”
“You thought wrong. Devon hasn’t been one of mine for years. Plus, a rat’s a rat, no matter whose cheese he’s eatin’. I ain’t no rat.” In the moment of silence that followed, Finn thought the stench of fish might overwhelm him. “You know why I agreed to talk to you?”
“Because I’m Devon ’s lawyer?”
Ballick shook his head. “I don’t give a fuck about Devon. Devon ’s done. He’s a loser. He’s a punk. Always has been. I don’t owe him shit. Murphy should never have hired him on this Gilberacci’s thing.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Then why did you agree to meet with me?”
Ballick coughed, and Finn could hear the rumble deep down in his chest. “I remember you from twenty years ago. You were a punk back then, too. But you were always straight. Word was you’re still straight today. I wanted to see for myself.”
“I appreciate that.”
“You shouldn’t. You fuckin’ disappoint.”
“Sorry.”
“You want me to roll on a guy you think I’m doing business with. You come in here with your ‘hypotheticals’ and expect me to play rat so you can get a deal for your boy. I don’t live in the hypothetical world; I live in the real fuckin’ world. In my world, a man says what he means and gets shivved if he don’t. Devon got himself where he is today, and there ain’t shit I can do to help him. He’s your problem, not mine.”
The lunge would have been effective had Kozlowski not anticipated it. It was aimed straight at his abdomen, which in most circumstances would have maximized the likelihood of catching him. He’d set his feet, though, and he stepped back and swiveled his torso effectively, twisting just out of the knife’s reach.
Once he was sure he hadn’t been cut, Kozlowski knew the fight was over. The lunge had put Sullivan off balance, weight forward, head down. He was an easy target.
Kozlowski grabbed his wrist with his left hand, just below the knife, and pulled it forward, throwing the man even farther off balance. Then he swung his knee up hard into the outstretched arm, hyperextending the elbow. He was hoping to hear the pop of ligaments and cartilage, but he wasn’t that lucky. It was enough, though, that Sullivan gave out a pained scream and dropped the knife.
Kozlowski raised his right fist and brought it down on the back of Sullivan’s neck. So much of the man’s weight was forward that he fell to the ground on his stomach at Kozlowski’s feet. “Didn’t they teach you to fight any better than this in Walpole?” he asked. “You must’ve gotten your ass kicked up there every day, huh?”
“Fuck you!” Sullivan screamed. He scrabbled toward the knife, which had fallen just a few feet away. Kozlowski cut him off, though, and brought his foot down on the man’s wrist with all his weight just as he was reaching for the weapon. Sullivan screamed out in pain. He recovered quickly, though, and rolled onto his side, swinging his free hand at Kozlowski’s crotch.
The blow glanced off Kozlowski’s thigh, missing its mark. It was close enough, though, that Kozlowski decided it was time to end the matter. Still standing on the man’s arm, he reached into his coat and pulled out his gun. As Sullivan struggled on the ground to free himself, Kozlowski leaned down and put the muzzle against his cheek. Sullivan went still instantly.
“Looks like six years went by too fast for you to learn anything, Mikey,” Kozlowski said. “Shame. All that taxpayer money wasted.”
“Just do it, piece of shit!” the man yelled. “You ain’t even a cop piece of shit no more, so do it! Put a bullet in my fuckin’ head an’ you go off to the fuckin’ MCI! Let’s see how you like it on the inside, I’m sure they’ll love your ass in there! You ain’t shit anymore!”
Kozlowski raised the butt of his gun and drove it into the man’s forehead. The man let out a cackle. “Do it! Muthafucka do it!”
Kozlowski put the barrel of the gun back to the man’s cheek and pulled the hammer back.
“What’s your angle on this?”
Ballick had finished drinking from his thermos, and he lit a cigarette. Finn looked around at the ancient newspapers on the floor and the half-rotted wood in the studs on the walls. He wondered how the place hadn’t burned down. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. You’re a hot-shit lawyer. You can pick and choose your clients. Devon ’s got no fuckin’ money, so what the fuck you care what happens to him?”
“He’s a friend,” Finn said.
“Bullshit. You two weren’t even friends back in the day. I’d bet ten large you haven’t talked to him in a fuckin’ decade. Besides, Devon ’s got no friends. So what’s your interest?”
“He’s got a daughter. I’m trying to help him out.”
“You fuckin’ his daughter?”
“She’s fourteen.”
“Makes me more curious about your answer.”
Finn shook his head in disgust. “It’s not like that. Her mother split. If Devon goes in, she’s got no one to take care of her.”
“So what? How’s that your fuckin’ problem?” Finn didn’t answer. “Well, fuck,” Ballick continued, “if it’s the daughter you’re worried about, give her my phone number. I’m sure I could find work for her.”
“Doing what?”
Ballick shrugged. “She’d make more if she was a little younger. The hard-core perverts think of thirteen as some sort of a fuckin’ cutoff. Still, if she’s cute and she looks young enough, she could lie. Girl like that under the right circumstances can make a shitload of money.” He smiled and his eyes grew smaller.
“Don’t talk about her like that.”
“Like what? I didn’t make this fucked-up world, I just work here.” Ballick shook his head in mock pity. “Girl like that, that kind of background and fucked-up parents, she don’t end up with me she’ll end up with someone worse. Why not me?” He chuckled.
Finn leaned in toward the table. “Maybe I need to be clearer. Stay away from the girl. If I find out you’ve been anywhere near her, I swear to God…”
“You swear to God what?” Ballick asked. He’d lost his sense of humor. “You threatening me, Counselor?” He opened the desk’s top drawer and pulled out a revolver, put it down on the desk. “Let me explain something to you: I got a lotta shit to worry about in my life. You ain’t any part of it. You got that? You wanna come in here and tell me what to do? You wanna threaten me? Maybe I should be clearer. I ever see you again and you won’t have to worry about Devon ’s kid anymore, ’cause I’ll put a bullet in your fuckin’ brain. That clear enough? You ain’t a part of this world anymore; don’t go playin’ like you are.”