Yes, but it’s not like he can do anything—not with all the security cams around this place. Jackson paused. Actually, that’s probably why he’s ringing. We did beat him up the last time we met him, remember.

It was hardly a beating. More a little singeing. I returned my attention to the phone and Radcliffe. “How did you know we were here?”

He chuckled. It was a cold, somewhat smug sound. “Rats are everywhere. There isn’t much we don’t see or know.”

“Which makes it even odder you didn’t stop Rinaldo’s attacks on your gaming venues before they actually happened.”

“That is the only reason I’m talking to you now, when all I really want to do is wipe the stain of your existence from this earth.”

My smile held very little in the way of humor. “Try it, and I’ll return the favor.”

“You won’t catch me out like that again—”

“Radcliffe,” Jackson cut in, “enough with the bluster. If you want to talk, come in and talk. I’ll even buy you and your goons a coffee.”

“Be there in five minutes,” he said.

I hung up and shoved the phone back into my pocket. “Meaning he’s close.”

Jackson nodded. “He’s obviously got a lair somewhere near here and was undoubtedly keeping an eye on events in Brooklyn.”

Which was probably the only reason he—or his men—spotted us. “PIT isn’t going to be happy if we give him any sort of useful information.”

Jackson shrugged. “It’s not like we have a whole lot of useful information, at least when it comes to Rinaldo.”

That was true enough—and part of the reason we’d asked for a meet with Radcliffe in the first place. I quickly finished my burgers, then gazed out the window, watching for the rat’s appearance and wondering if he’d come in a car or walk. It was a question soon answered when three figures appeared out of the gloom and strode toward the main door. Two of them I didn’t recognize, but the third was Radcliffe. He was a thickset, muscular man with thin, pockmarked features and an arrogant set to his mouth. His eyes were typically ratlike—small and beady—but he moved like a man who owned the world. Which meant Jackson was probably right—his lair was very close to this area.

Radcliffe swept in, paused until he spotted us, and then strode over. One of his men stayed near the door, but the other followed Radcliffe across. If the slight bulge in the pockets of their ill-fitting jackets was anything to go by, they were both armed. Obviously, Radcliffe hadn’t yet learned guns weren’t a very effective weapon when it came to phoenixes.

Jackson rose and waved Radcliffe toward the booth seat. “Coffee?”

“No.” Radcliffe sat with little grace and crossed his arms on the table. Anger oozed out of every pore, and the gleam in his dark eyes very much suggested all he wanted to do was reach out and strangle me. “Tell me what you know about Rinaldo.”