We’d expected Volkv to know about Kozlov’s death. Even in jail, he shouldn’t be that cut off, but from his open smile as we mentioned his friend, he was obviously serious.

“He’s dead,” Jack said.

Volkv blinked, then leaned forward, resting his mouth against his open hand. It took a moment before he looked up again.

“How’d it happen?”

“Hit.”

I expected Volkv to laugh, or at least ask Jack to repeat himself. Someone paying to off an old thug who’d been out of the business for twenty years? Waste of ammo.

But Volkv just gave a long slow shake of his head. “Dumb fuck. I warned him. Last time he was here, he sat right there—same chair you’re in, as a matter of fact, and I said, ‘Leon, you dumb fuck, that ain’t a retirement package, it’s a death sentence.’ You don’t screw with those guys, you know what I mean?”

Jack nodded.

Volkv leaned forward. “Now you and I, maybe we ain’t picked the kind of careers our mamas would want, but those guys? A whole other league. Not even part of the human race, if you ask me. Fucking psychos, every last one of them. You don’t blackmail a psycho.”

“Not unless you want to end up six feet under.” As Jack switched to full sentences, I noticed the brogue had been replaced by a faint drawl, like a southerner who’s worked hard to lose his accent.

Volkv jabbed a finger at the Plexiglas, earning himself a glare from the guard. He lowered his voice. “That’s exactly what I told Leon. You don’t fuck with a hitman.” Grief flickered behind his eyes again. “Did he get a good funeral?”

“A big one. Standing room only.”

“Really? So those Nikolaev bastards came around to show their respects, did they? I always told Leon he was smart not to tell them what happened. If they knew, they’d have bumped him off themselves, just to be safe. No loyalty, those fucks. I got this on the job”—he pointed at his blind eye—“they wouldn’t even pay my doctor’s bill. Fired my ass ’cause I couldn’t see right no more.”

By now I could almost hear my toe tapping with impatience. It was like seeing the carousel brass ring zipping by, as you try to reach a little farther, knowing that any moment, the music could stop and you’d lose your chance. Jack just sat there, hands never leaving the reins, as if, by being patient enough, the ring would come to him.

For the next ten minutes, he chatted with Volkv, letting the old con take the conversation where he liked, around and around, never veering any closer to the prize. I held my tongue only by clamping my mouth shut so hard my jaw ached.