“You had to know what your father’s last wishes were, Jackie,” I said. “And I’m guessing in the event of his death, you knew the majority of the business would be handed over to his employees. To keep it running or to sell it for a modest retirement. He loved his employees. Loved Mexicantown. Oh, sure, you’d get a small share. But not enough to pull you out of the financial abyss you’re in. Both of you are in.”

“I don’t have to listen to this!” Danny said, attempting to rise from his chair.

I slapped him hard.

“Yes,” I said. “You do.” Danny flopped back in his chair, looking like a child who’d been caught with a dirty hand in the cookie jar. “You’ve got a way with men, don’t you, Jackie. You always have. Hell, even I felt the tug of your gravity pulling me into your orbit for a second or two. I’m betting Sloane’s on his way here to settle with you. And Danny? Sorry, pal. You’re what you’ve always been; a shit-outta-luck jag-off.”

“Jackie?” Danny said.

“So how long did it take to convince Danny forge a new will, then put your father down like a dog?”

“A mediocre dinner, a disappointing wine and fifteen minutes in bed,” Jackie said. She was dressed in a black couture pantsuit accented with what I suspected was a belt of Swarovski crystals. She uncrossed her legs, smiled at me, then methodically recrossed them. Outside, it was beginning to snow heavily.

“Fifteen minutes?” I said. “Jesus, Danny! I’m just getting warmed up after fifteen minutes.”

“Trust me,” Jackie said. “It was quite enough.”

“Jackie,” Danny pleaded sheepishly.

“So, the plan was for Danny to pop the old man in the head, make it look like he chose to go out on his own terms, right?” I said, leaning against the wall and folding my arms. “Nobody’s the wiser. Not even you, Danny. Which hand did you put the gun in?”

He didn’t answer, so I gave his left shin a kick.

“Right,” Danny said. “The right hand.”

“Brilliant!” I said. “The rheumatoid-arthritis right hand that he couldn’t lift a cup of tea with. Both of you knew the old man was the first one in and the last one out of building. You didn’t make sure the main entrance door wasn’t closed behind you, right? You hear somebody coming upstairs from the production floor to the business offices. You panic, hide behind the door. That somebody was my godfather, Tomás. And you shot him in the back twice and watched him fall downstairs. Crawl out into the street and—and—”

I punched Danny in the face until strands of his blood and drool splashed against the wall, carpet and window.

“Stop.”

Jackie was holding a short-barrel .38 and pointing it at me.