"You sent men to murder an eight-year-old. You want to see how it plays on the news? They'll bring the death penalty back just for you."
Gun blasts sounded in the other room.
Jason whirled, one hand reaching for his weapon. A second shot, and a third. Then, timed with the fourth, a wicked bass beat, thick with anger.
Music. He turned back to Dion, saw the banger smirking, wet-lipped and arrogant. "Pretty jumpy, Po-lice. You scared?"
Jason's tongue was a dry beast flopping in the desert of his mouth. He eased his hand off the Beretta, his fingers reluctant to move. "Nah." He forced himself to smile. "I just don't want to have to fill out the paperwork for shooting you."
The muscles in Dion's neck bulged, and he stepped forward. "Oh, you fucked up now."
"I don't think so." Jason's bowels went warm and loose, but he stood his ground. "Like I told my lieutenant, you're a smart man. You know no cop is going to walk in here all alone, no backup. So you know what will happen if you make a move." He held the moment like it was nitroglycerine: one wrong move and everything would blow. There was only so far he dared bluff. But he had to get something out of this for Billy's sake. "Besides, I'm here to do you a favor."
Dion had stopped moving, looked at him suspiciously. "Yeah?"
"Truth is, we know you didn't kill Michael Palmer. We've got a witness says it was two white guys. But since Palmer was such an upstanding citizen, we have to lock somebody up fast. Ideally, that would be the guys who actually did it, probably the same ones that hired you to grab Jason. Problem is, we don't know who they are." He paused, let his words sink in. "But we do know who you are."
Dion shook his head. "Po-lice."
"Just telling you how it is. Fact that I know you didn't do it doesn't mean I won't arrest you for it." He paused. "Unless you got a better name."
"Black man can't get no break."
Jason shrugged. "Has more to do with you being a gangster and a killer. But whatever you like."
Dion turned to the window, set his hands on the air conditioner, fingers drumming idly. Stared out the dirty pane above it. The moment stretched.
Then he turned back. "Playboy was hired by a white dude, name of Anthony DiRisio."
Relief washed through Jason's body. "Who is he?"
"Wait a second. If I give him up for the shit you're looking for, will any, you know, previous dealings he and I have had come back to bite my ass?"
"No way." Jason smiled. "My word, as a cop."
"I feel better already." Dion shook his head. "Guy's a dealer."
"What, drugs?"
"Naw," Dion said, and smiled. "He's specialized. He sells hardware."
"Guns."
"Nigga, please. I want a gat, I pick up the phone, have boys here in half an hour with a trunk full. Anthony sells hardware. Military shit. MPs, AKs, those big-ass combat shotguns. Ain't cheap, neither."
Jason stared, his mouth hanging open.
"Been selling for about a year now. Sells to anybody, which is the only reason you and I is talking, 'aight? That boy don't have no loyalty."
Jason blinked. "So this guy, he hired you to hijack-" almost said me, caught himself at the last second-"Jason Palmer? Why?"
"Like I said, that was Playboy's deal. All's I know is he was supposed to grab the dude and wait for a call."
"And what about the other night, breaking into Michael Palmer's house?"
"After Jason got away, DiRisio wanted Playboy to make good. He called, gave us an address."
"And you sent people to kill everyone there."
Dion shrugged. "I didn't say that."
Jason smiled, a thin expression, his heart raging. Wanting to tear Dion apart, even knowing he wasn't the real problem. "I need to find DiRisio."
"Who you really after, cop? You trying to arrest a couple of brothers, or you want the dude who gave the order?"
Both. I want all of you rotting in the depths of the earth for a thousand years. "All I want is the man who gave the order."
"DiRisio was in here talking like a punk this morning." Dion shrugged. "Said he's got a deal going down tonight."
"Where?"
"Don't know for sure," Dion said. "But our last couple meets were downtown. Wacker Drive."
"Upper or Lower?"
The man smiled. "Lower Lower Wacker. The drive under the drive, down on the bottom level where they was filming that Batman movie. There's a spot there by the loading docks for the Hyatt. That's where we done it."
Jason nodded. He didn't know the specific spot, but knew Wacker. A three-level artery for the city, following the river's curve from Lake Shore Drive to the highways. The top levels were fairly busy, but the bottom was mostly used by service vehicles and delivery trucks. Smart. Private and easy to secure, but with plenty of exit options. It was the kind of location a trained soldier might choose. He felt twisting in his belly, acid in his throat. What in the hell had Mikey gotten himself into?
"Now, Po-lice." Dion glared at him. "How about you get the fuck outta my house."
Jason nodded. He'd gotten as much as he could expect. More. Time to go, before some stupid mistake gave him away. "All right." Jason backed away, eyes on Dion. He risked a quick glance to find the doorknob, then turned back.
"One more thing." He paused. "You said this guy sells submachine guns, military hardware. What do you need firepower like that for?"
"Ain't you noticed, cop?" Dion's voice was soft, his gaze weary, and for the tiniest second, Jason almost felt sorry for him. "There's a war goin' on."
CHAPTER 22
"I'm kind of busy," Jason said, cell phone pinned between ear and shoulder as he glanced back. An SUV pulled past him, and he switched to the right lane.
"Doing what?" Washington's voice was ice.
"You don't want to know."
There was a long pause. "You're right."
"Look, just tell Billy that I love him and that I'll call him later."
"He wants to talk to you. Boy's scared."
"I know, it's just that – look, I left him there so that I could be a soldier instead of an uncle."
"Only one of those things is worth a damn." The disapproval couldn't have been clearer if Washington had been shouting, instead of speaking in measured syllables. "But if you have to be both, be an uncle first."
"Jesus, we been friends how many years now? You can't just do me this favor, take care of my nephew for a little while?"
"Play soldier all you like. But you can't park Billy in his foxhole and expect him to keep his head down. Maybe you forgot, but that boy lost his father."
Guilt fed the Worm, always. "I didn't forget."
"So act like it."
"All right. All right, old man, I get you." Jason sighed. "Put him on."
The exit from Lake Shore Drive swung him onto the far north end of the Magnificent Mile. Tourist heaven, the shop windows bright against the twilight, a slow tide of women in shorts and men with sunburned faces. He turned onto Oak before he got lost in the crush of cars, double-parked in front of a designer boutique and flipped on his hazards. Took a breath and tried to gather his thoughts.
Combat he could handle. An eight-year-old he was less sure about.
"Uncle Jason?"
"Hey, kiddo."
"Where are you?"
"Nowhere, buddy." A breeze came through the open window, and Jason closed his eyes, smelled the lake on it. "I'm just out taking care of some things."