“And of course you’re checking out who bought the guns?”

Cowling laughed. Then he said, “Estate sales ain’t known for stellar accounting, Snow. Cash and carry. Or pinch and carry. Either way, I ain’t got the time, inclination or manpower to chase down some two-year old suburban estate sale receipts.”

“Just take a closer look at both goddamn guns, Leo—”

“Hey, whoa, slick,” Cowling snarled. “This ain’t no damned Subway sandwich shop. You don’t get to march right up to the counter, put your order in, snag a bag of chips and a mothafuckin’ cookie, then walk out.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Romero shot my godfather, Leo. I just want—”

“Revenge,” Cowling said. “See, I get it. But you need to get this: just because you ain’t got not an ounce of respect for me don’t mean you just walk yo ass up in here—my house, the 14th—without no respect, no reverence. You feel me?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I feel you.”

Cowling took the gun from me and said, “If anything shakes out—which I doubt—you’ll know. If it don’t, you’ll know that, too. Now get the fuck up outta here.”

I did as he so kindly suggested.

As I was about to push through the front doors of the 14th, my phone vibrated.

A text.

duck ducane wants a word. 11:30 pm. eastern market, shed 3.

Duck?

Jersey boys, come to collect their thirty pieces of silver.

I texted back: what should i wear?

No answer.

Assassins are so serious these days.

I called Tatina at my house. In the background were the overlapping, cacophonous sounds of women indulging in too much wine and enjoying one another’s company. I briefly imagined my beloved mother among them, her lilting laugh taking wing, her eyes reflecting the glow of the moment’s camaraderie.

“So,” I said, “just a quiet night in with a hot toddy and Netflix?”

Tatina excused herself from her guests and went upstairs to my—our—room.

“Are you okay?” she said.

“Yeah,” I said. Then, nervously, I added, “I may not be home until late—”

“Bail?”

“No,” I said with some irritation. “I do not need bail.”

She sighed with relief, then said, “That other business?”

“That other business.”

“Anyone who can help?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” I lied.

“Come home,” she said. “I’ll fix you something.”

“No,” I said. “Have fun with the ladies. When I get home, maybe you and I’ll have fun.”

“Then let me come with you,” she said. “I can handle myself.”

I knew what she meant. I swallowed the confusion of fear and anger I was feeling and said, “No.”

Then I said what she wanted to hear—and what I truly felt. Which made both of us unreasonably happy. And awkward. A confusing entanglement of gravity and weightlessness.