With his palm Devlin wiped the window to watch for Major, and saw him right away, ten feet from the door and moving as fast as he could. With one-eyed guys Devlin always forgot which eye was real—not the one that looked normal, but the one that bulged out and constantly scanned the room like something from a science fiction movie. That was the real eye—and the one with which Major signaled Devlin to follow him to the back. Major was a big man, almost sixty, with a shock of gray-white hair; rain poured off his lightweight coat as he stomped to the rear.

The counterman shot an interested glance at Devlin, then relaxed when Major gave him a sign. “Coffee?” he asked. Devlin nodded. The counterman knew what Major wanted.

Major sat with his back to the rear wall, so he could watch the door. “Put your hand under the table. Reach. All right, put that in your pocket. It’s all there, fourteen units.”

Devlin had let it slip his mind. “Thanks. Why did you want to talk to me?”

Major sat back while the waitress put down two coffee cups.

“Can I get you boys anything else?”

Major shook her off. Devlin tried to avoid watching Major’s real eye watching the waitress get her distance, but that was what Devlin did, and when Major leaned forward to talk, Devlin leaned, too, zooming in on the eye.

“Only because I know you so long,” Major said. “Don’t bring me into this crap you’re in. Ever. I want to do you a favor, but you have to keep me out.”

“Of course.”

“This is serious.”

“You have my word.”

“Let me tell you about my business,” Major said. “For all I know, even you don’t know how it works. What I got here is like a franchise. When Cuomo said there’s no Mafia, I almost broke a rib. Anyway, people want to get to me, they just have to ask. Six months ago, two guys came in here to ask me about you. Under the circumstances—who they were—I told them what I knew.”

“Who were they?”