Anthony DiRisio, who had murdered his brother.
His fingers went white on the wheel. So much had happened in the last days that he'd hardly had a chance to think about Michael. To mourn him. Life had intervened most fucking spectacularly. He should have had days to think, to drink, to cry and punch holes in the drywall. To comfort Billy.
He heard Michael's voice in his head, saying, Bang up job you're doing with that last one, bro. Thanks so much for taking care of my son.
Jason glanced in the rearview, saw it was clear, pulled a clean U-turn.
"Where are you going?" Cruz asked. Saying you, not we.
"I need to see my nephew."
"Why?"
He looked over. "Because he's my nephew." He held it for a moment, then spoke again, lighter. "Anyway, he's staying with a friend of mine. We can hide the car, figure our next move."
She just wrinkled her mouth and looked back out the window. She'd been like that since they'd left her apartment, sort of crumpled and inward-facing.
"Are you okay?"
"Gangbangers have a contract on us, my boss is in league with them, and I don't have a clue what to do about either of those things." She turned to him, stared a long time. "Am I okay?"
He shook his head. "There's something else."
"What do you mean?"
"That was all true before, but you weren't like this. You didn't get like this until you realized Donlan was involved. Is he that scary?"
She turned away.
A thought struck him. "Wait a second. Was it him?"
Cruz didn't ask who?, didn't say anything at all, which should've told him all he needed. But he dug anyway, like an idiot. "Donlan was the cop that you… the one you – you know."
She leaned forward, turned on the radio with a snap. The CD in the changer started where it'd been left, Pearl Jam's "Riot Act," that spoken-word song with Vedder saying how the haves have not a clue. She scowled, switched to FM, started spinning the dial.
"Look, I didn't mean to…" Jason trailed off. "I just didn't know, that's all."
"Yeah, well, now you do. Congratulations."
"You're pissed at me?" Paused. "You're pissed at me?"
"Oh for Christ's sake." Her voice loud. She turned to the window, said, "Pull over here."
"Why?"
She shot him a look, and he shook his head, eased the car to the side.
Cruz got out without a word, left the door standing open. Stalked down the street. Was she leaving? He watched her throw open the door to a convenience store. The sun off the glass made it hard to see, but it looked like she was buying something. Jason glanced around, checked the rearview, uncomfortable to be just sitting here exposed. When he looked back at the storefront, she was already outside, hitting something against her palm, then stripping the wrapping off. Cigarettes.
She put one between her lips and cupped her hands around it in a practiced pose, the lighter flaring in one hand, the pack shielding the other side. She inhaled like she wanted to finish the smoke in one hit.
Her shoulders drooped, and she rocked her head back softly. Blew a long stream of gray. Smiled, and took another drag as she walked. He watched her hips swing. She looked good, relaxed, like after a day at the spa.
Cruz stopped by a trash bin, took a last inhale, then stubbed out the cigarette and tossed it in. Started for the car, made one step before something came over her face, her lips clenching, little frown wrinkles popping. She sighed, then turned and chucked the pack and lighter as well.
"Better?" he asked when she settled into the passenger seat.
She said, "Let's go."
She sounded pissed off in just the right way, and it made him smile.
Given everything that was happening, Crenwood seemed a strange place to be, and it had Jason's nerves jangling. Hell, less than a mile away was the Disciples house he'd bluffed his way into.
On the other hand, the last place anybody would look for them was the heart of enemy territory.
"A little further," Ronald said, and motioned with his fingers. The big man had answered Washington's door when they knocked, nodded at Jason, and listened patiently while they explained they wanted to park the Caddy out of sight. Washington's garage was a squat structure separated from the main house by an alley, and the whale of a Caddy was a tight fit in the tiny garage. "Further. Stop."
Jason hopped out, turned sideways and held his breath to squeeze out of the garage. "Washington's car will be okay on the street?"
"That beater?" Ronald snorted, then tugged the garage door closed. He led them back to the house. "Dr. Matthews is in his office. It's a busy day, but I know he wants to see you."
"What's up today?" Jason stepped inside.
"The benefit. Mr. Kent giving a lot of bank tonight."
The layout still felt familiar, not from last week but from last lifetime, though now the kitchen had teenagers washing dishes and peeling potatoes, and what Jason remembered as the living room had been turned into a study area, with GED prep books spread on the table. On the couch an older Latino kid was repeating phrases to a younger one, his fingers tracing the words in an English primer.
It wasn't until Washington opened the door of his office that Jason remembered the other night, the words they'd exchanged. But the look on his friend's face made it damn clear that he was the only one who'd forgotten.
"Jason." Incongruously, Washington was dressed in a tuxedo, the tie unclipped and dangling, the cummerbund tight around a sagging belly. His expression was stern as Jason introduced Cruz.
In contrast, she smiled. "It's nice to meet you, Dr. Matthews. You do a lot of good out of here."
"Never enough."
"At least you're fighting."
Washington nodded. "We're trying." He gestured to Ronald. "Why don't you show Officer Cruz around?"
She caught the hint. "I'd love that." She gave Jason's hand a squeeze, a quick move that took him by surprise and left him smiling. The smile faded when Washington gestured him into the office and closed the door, like a principal calling out a teenager.
"Listen, about the other night." Jason sat on the couch. "I didn't mean the things-"
"Son, I'm going to ask you a question, and you better not lie to me."
The tone took Jason aback. "Okay."
"You lie to me and we're through, you hear?"
"Yeah, okay."
Washington leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and eyes appraising. "Did you kill him?"
Kill him? Kill who? Jason stared. "What?"
"Did you?"
"No! Who?" He held his hands up and open. "I haven't killed anybody."
Washington narrowed his eyes, cocked his head.
"I don't know what you're talking about." He returned the stare unblinking. "I swear to you, I don't."
A long moment of silence. Then Washington nodded and leaned back. He sighed like he was blowing out the last of his breath. "All right."
"What's this about?"
"The head of the Gangster Disciples, man named Dion Wallace, was killed last night."
"What?" He flashed back to the gang crib, C-Note Wallace telling him there was a war going on. Yesterday afternoon. "What happened?"
Washington shrugged. "I don't know. But I know you and Ronald talked on the porch for a long time last night, and I saw murder in your eyes."