“There now.” Emil patted the charms hanging between Kennet’s collarbones. “You’re my eldest and finest, and you wear this gold because you’re good.” He pointed to the tooth on the table. “You carry that gold so you remember to stay good. Bra som guld, hm? Good as gold.”

“Excuse me?”

Both men turned to see Astrid at the kitchen door.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said.

“Not at all, my dear,” Emil said. “Come in.”

“Kennet, there’s a phone call for you. At the hotel. Someone named O’Hara?”

Kennet pushed back from the table so quick, his chair nearly fell over. He righted it and headed for the door.

“Wait,” Emil called. “You forgot something.” He picked up the gold tooth and deposited it carefully in Kennet’s palm. “Keep it close.”

Kennet kissed his father’s crown, then sprinted between the raindrops to the hotel. He slipped behind the front desk and into the little telephone nook, where the receiver lay on the table.

“O’Hara, how’s the chops?” he called.

A fuzzy beat of silence.

Kennet frowned. “You there?”

“Yeah. Um…”

“Bud, what’s the matter?”

“I fucked up.”

“What happened?”

“I… Well…”

“Where are you?”

Another long beat. “I’m in jail.”

“Oh shit.”

“Language,” Little hissed from the front. “This isn’t a barracks.”

“Sorry,” Kennet hissed back.

“No, I’m sorry,” O’Hara said.

“What? No, no, no. It’s all right.”

“They gave me one phone call. You’re the only number I had.”

“It’s all right. What do you need? Bail? A lawyer?”

“Bail. I’ll pay you b—”

“Never mind that. Can I wire the money?”

A bit of muffled conversation, then O’Hara came back. “They want cash,” he said miserably.

“Oh fu—fudge. Okay. Let me think. Will they give you another phone call or is this it?”

“This is it.”

“Hold on.” Kennet leaned out of the nook. “Little, is Major in the bar?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell him I need him. Quick.”

His brother gave him a cool look. “Please, Little?”

“Please, pretty please. And thank you, Little.” Kennet spoke back into the phone, “Hang on, I’m getting my uncle. He’ll know what to do.”

“Fish, I’m sorry.”

“Did you kill someone?”

A bark of startled laughter. “No.”

“Then save your sorry.”

Major came into the nook, wiping his hands on a bar towel. “I understand you need a body buried?”

“I got a friend in jail. You know anyone in New York City who can bail him out?”

Major swatted him with the towel. “Are you the new guy? Have we met?”

Kennet surrendered his chair. “O’Hara, I’m giving you to my uncle. He’s the brains of the operation. You do whatever he says.” He put a hand over the receiver. “Whatever you do, I need him on a train to Clayton afterward.”