Sebastian felt a peculiar thirst in the back of his throat. His limbs were humming now, ready for a fight—the way he’d felt, back in the day, when he’d step into the boxing ring, ready to knock someone right the fuck out.

His silence, or maybe the look on his face, maybe both, made Enrique shudder. “I don’t know his last name,” Enrique said again, his voice trembling with fear. “I swear to God I don’t.”

“What’s he look like, this guy Paul?”

“He’s all swole. Like a bodybuilder. He’s tall, black hair and—”

“Black hair,” Sebastian said.

“Yeah. Black as ink. He’s got all these really weird, or really cool, tattoos, depending on your point of view. And he—” Enrique cut himself off, straightening. “I can tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Where he is.” Enrique’s face brightened with triumph. “It’s not too far from here. Half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes.”

“Where?”

“Cudahy.”

Sebastian knew the area, of course. Cudahy, located in southeastern Los Angeles County, was the second smallest city in Los Angeles, the place named after some meatpacking magnate or some shit. And Enrique was right about Cudahy being close by.

“Gee-Gee couldn’t pick up the new supply of pills, asked me to do it,” Enrique said. He was speaking clearly now, the fear having been temporarily pushed aside by the excitement of holding what he believed was a winning lottery ticket—not for money but for his life. “Paul was there, and he gave me the pills.”

“We talking apartment, house, what?”

“House. Yellow stucco. Red clay roof, and a garage—an attached garage. I know the address.” Enrique eagerly gave it up without any prompting.

As a real estate agent, Sebastian had access to an app that could pull up the details for any house in the state of California. He used it now and typed in 143 Cypress Drive. It had been listed for sale until the middle of July, when it was pulled from the market, for reasons that weren’t noted.

The listing came with pictures. Sebastian tapped on one showing the front of the house. He enlarged it until the photo filled the screen and then showed it to Enrique.

“That’s it,” Enrique said. “That’s the place.”

Here it was, finally, everything he, Frank, Ron, and his men had been searching for all these months. Sebastian felt a joy that bordered on rapture. He wanted to jump to his feet and rush out the door, sprint straight for US Route 101 North and run all the way to Cudahy. He could do it, too. His blood was caffeine.

Sebastian patted the kid’s knee. “You did good. I need you to hang tight for a little bit until I get this sorted out, okay?”

“Could I get, like, a blanket or something? It’s freezing in here.”

Sebastian took off his coat and draped it around the kid’s shoulders. “I’ll see what I can do about a blanket, too,” he said. “You hungry?”

Enrique hesitated.

“This isn’t a trap, my man,” Sebastian said. “If you’re hungry, say so.”