Pike moved along the far wall past the pool cues and came up behind Richie. When he was ten feet from Heather Thomas, I walked over and came up from the near side. “Hey, Richie.”

Richie let out a cloud of the Marlboro and looked at me. “I know you?”

“Sure.”

Richie squinted through the smoke and rubbed at the inside of his left arm. He looked sleepy. “Where I know you from, Gino’s?”

I said, “Let’s take a little walk. We got something to talk about.”

Joe Pike came up from the other side and stood very close to Richie without expression. The kids shooting eight-ball stopped and looked over.

Richie glanced at Pike, then me. “What the fuck? I don’t know you.”

“Come on.” I put my hand on his arm. “We’ve got mutual friends.”

“Hey, I’m in the middle of a game here.” Eyes flicking faster now, Pike to me, Pike to me.

I went in closer until we had him sandwiched and made my voice quiet. “Tommy Gamboza sent us, Richie.”

Surprised. “Tommy wants to see me?” Almost a little excited, like maybe Tommy had sent us around to tap him for the secret order, like we’d drive somewhere and he’d get to take the blood oath to become part of La Cosa Nostra.

“Yeah.” I took him under the arm and pulled him toward the stairs. Pike looked back at the kids and told them that the game was over.

Richie said, “Hey, if Tommy wants to see me, how come he didn’t come himself? How come he didn’t send Tony or Frankie to get me? I don’t know you guys.”

“We’re imported, Richie. Vegas.” You say Vegas, they know it’s bad.

He jammed on the brakes, pulling up short. You see how it is with Vegas? “Hey.”

I leaned close and whispered in his ear. “The Gambozas know you’re selling them out to Charlie DeLuca.”

Richie Sealy’s knees went weak and he sort of slumped. If I hadn’t been holding his right arm he would’ve gone down the stairs like a runny egg. “Oh, Jesus,” he said. “Oh, Jesus.”

We took him down the stairs and around the corner into a little alley that smelled of grease and ammonia and put him into the wall against a metal dumpster. I held his collar and Pike patted him down and came up with a sharpened screwdriver and two ten-dollar packs of white powder. Pike opened the bags and poured out the powder. I said, “Don’t you know this stuff is bad for you, Richie?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know anything about Charlie DeLuca. I swear to Christ on my mother’s life.” These junkies.

I said, “Richie. The Gambozas know. Vincent Ricci saw with his own eyes. Are you calling Ricci a liar?”