“Are you through sulking?” Frank asked.

“It’s not wise to poke the bear.”

“I won’t apologize for taking the reins on this. Finding Paul has become your new drug.”

Sebastian stopped pacing. “Say that again?”

“You’re an alcoholic. All you see is what you want, and you go after it with the subtlety of a bulldozer. I don’t fault you for it. All alcoholics and addicts are wired only one way.”

“And which way is that?”

“To self-destruct.”

Frank, Sebastian knew, was right. Still, it did little to mollify his anger.

“Our new celebrity center,” Frank said. “I found someone we can use to run the front office, keep an eye on things.”

Sebastian said nothing.

“She’s one of Anton’s stickmen,” Frank said.

That got Sebastian’s attention. “Since when did Anton get all woke?”

“He’s always had an eye for talent. And this woman, Faye Simpson, is quite talented. I spoke with her. I was impressed.”

“Inviting someone in from Anton’s crew. What a great idea.”

“I think it’s an excellent idea, as a matter of fact. Anton has taken quite a shine to her. I can see why. She’s very attractive, but also she’s very . . . unique. Tough. I suspect she can handle herself, keep her wits about her. Anton trusts her, and if he uses Ms. Simpson to gather information on our operation, feed it back to Paul—well, then we’ll know for sure if he and Paul are working together.”

“Of course, the question will be moot if we get our hands on Paul tonight.”

“We will,” Sebastian said.

Frank’s phone buzzed. He took the call, listened for a moment, then hung up.

“That was Marty,” Frank said. “They’re entering the premises.”

Sebastian paced the cracked, sunbaked asphalt, his shoes crunching against the broken glass of beer and liquor bottles and, he was sure, crack vials. He’d spotted a couple in the car headlights when Frank had driven around the back of the garage.

“What the hell is this?” Frank said under his breath.

Sebastian stopped pacing, turned, and saw Frank staring down at the screen of his phone, his brow furrowed in thought.

Frank showed Sebastian the message on his phone. It was from an unknown number and contained one word:

Ka-boom!!!

“What the hell does that mean?” Sebastian asked.

His phone vibrated. He took it out, saw a text on the screen. It was also from an unknown number, and the message contained three words:

Nice try, asshole.

Paul. This text was from Paul. Had to be. But how had he gotten this number? They had purchased new encrypted Enigma Black phones—

Another text: You guys walked right into it!

Sebastian felt as though his stomach was packed in ice. It was a trap. Either that kid Enrique led us into a trap or Paul had somehow anticipated our movements and—

Another text: I’m coming for you, old man.