He chuckled. “Seen a whole lot worse, Kenzie.”

I turned to Devin. “You?”

“Hell, yes.” He sipped his drink. “Violent world, Patrick. People enjoy killing. It—”

“Empowers them,” Oscar said.

“Exactly,” Devin said. “Some part of it makes you feel pretty goddammed good. All that power.” He shrugged. “But why’re we telling you? You’d know all about that.”

“Excuse me?”

Oscar put a hand the size of a catcher’s mitt on my shoulder. “Kenzie, everyone knows you did Marion Socia last year. We got you pegged for a couple punks in the projects off the Melnea Cass too.”

“What,” I said, “and you haven’t had me arraigned?”

“Patrick, Patrick, Patrick,” Devin said, slurring just a bit, “it was up to us, you’d get a medal for Socia. Fuck him. Fuck him twice, far as I’m concerned. But,” he said, closing one eye again, “you can’t tell me some part of you didn’t feel real good watching the light go out of his eyes when you popped one through his head.”

I said, “No comment.”

“Kenzie,” Oscar said, “you know he’s right. He’s drunk, but he’s right. You drew on that pile of shit Socia, looked in his eyes, and put his ass down.” He made a pistol with his index finger and thumb, shoved it against my temple. “Bang. Bang. Bang.” He removed the finger. “No more Marion Socia. Kind of feels like being God for a day, don’t it?”

How I felt when I killed Marion Socia under an expressway as trucks hammered the metal extensions overhead was one of the more conflicted set of emotions I’d ever had in my life, and I sure as hell didn’t feel like reminiscing about it in a bar with two homicide detectives when I was half in the bag. Maybe I’m paranoid.

Devin smiled. “Killing someone feels very good, Patrick. Don’t kid yourself.”

Gerry Glynn came down the bar. “Another round, boys?”

Devin nodded. “Hey, Ger.”

Gerry stopped halfway down the bar.

“You ever kill anyone on the Job?”

Gerry looked a bit embarrassed, as if he’d heard the question too many times. “Never even pulled my gun.”

“No,” Oscar said.

Gerry shrugged, his kind eyes completely at odds with the job he’d done for twenty years. He scratched Patton’s abdomen absently. “Those were different days, then. You remember, Dev.”

Devin nodded. “Different days.”

Gerry pulled the tap to fill my beer mug. “Different world, really.”

“Different world,” Devin said.

He brought our fresh drinks down to us. “Wish I could help you out, guys.”

I looked at Devin. “Someone notify Kara’s mother?”

He nodded. “She was passed out in her kitchen, but they woke her up and told her. Someone’s sitting with her now.”

“Kenzie,” Oscar said, “we’re going to get this Micky Doog. It was someone else, a gang, whatever, we’ll get ’em all. In a few hours, we know everyone’s awake, we’re going to recanvass every house and someone probably will have seen something. And we’ll pick the punk motherfucker up and sweat him and mess with his head till he breaks. Won’t bring her back, but maybe we speak for her a bit.”