Nearly there, the ladder began to creak and sway and it felt loose in my hands. I glanced up toward the roof and saw the supports practically dangling from corroded mounts. My mouth went dry. I glanced down. Not close enough. If I fell from here, it was going to hurt like hell. A loud snap followed. I glanced up again to find one end of the ladder completely unhinged from the building. Maybe I had a good ten seconds. I scanned the ground—nothing but concrete and a Dumpster a few feet to my left. A Dumpster. There were bound to be rats in there. A whine of distressed metal broke into my panicked thoughts. Five seconds. I dove from the ladder into the Dumpster, landing on my back on a mound of slippery garbage bags. The ladder crashed to the alley, a cacophony of skittering bolts, rusted rungs, and worn metal. Dogs began to bark somewhere. The stench was horrendous. I clambered to my knees, clamped my hands onto the side, and hoisted myself over and out as fast as I could.

“Ack! Yuck. Blech.” I danced in one spot, beating my clothes to loosen vermin, thinking of rats and crawly things. The sense of relief to have my feet on solid ground was secondary. I fanned at my hair, shook my head, stomped my feet. I snorted hard to get the stench of rot out of my nose, then turned to see Ben and Weber walking toward me. I composed myself and moved away from the Dumpster. I eyed the pieces of ladder littering the alley, lucky to be alive.

“We got them. They’ll roll on Spada. They’re too stupid not to.” These were the first words out of my mouth. I’d survived a Dumpster jump. I felt invincible.

Ben and Weber eyed the ladder, then me; neither spoke. Ben looked at the rusted ladder lying on the ground, shook his head. Weber just stared at me, bewildered.

“I got a tip,” I said. “I followed it through. It panned out.”

Ben opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again to speak. “I don’t know where to start.”

“The back room is where all the action happens,” I said. “But I wouldn’t waste time getting a warrant to search the place. They’re probably in there now shredding and burning everything worth looking at. Another thing, can you check to see if Spada comes back as the owner of Leon’s chop shop? I’m still looking for a connector. The shop might be it.”

Ben took in the broken ladder lying at our feet. “So we’re not going to talk about these rusted pieces of—”

Weber cut him off. “I don’t really think you want to, do you?” I turned and headed for the rental.

“Hey, where are you going now?” Ben asked. “We need you to pick these jokers out of a lineup.”