“Actually,” Rondeau says, “I wouldn’t worry about the Sureños too much, at least any local affiliates.”

Which is Feebie-speak for they’re all dead or locked up. “Guess the Lawrenceville raid went well.”

She looks at me impassively, all business. I really want to see her laughing, wearing something other than a pantsuit.

“How’s Agent Scott?” I ask.

That gets a double blink, a crack in the wall of professionalism. “He’s all right,” she says. “He’s on leave.”

So the feds put Agent Scott in timeout. “How’s Timmy?”

This time Rondeau smiles for real. “He’s good. Hanging with his dad.” She stands. “I’m glad you’re okay, Suzie.”

“Thanks. Can you give Tane a message for me? Tell him he’s the badass.”

Rondeau nods. “Will do.” She pauses, then leans down and brushes a few strands of my hair off my face, tucking them behind my ear. I inhale her scent, eucalyptus and oranges and cedar. “Bye, Suzie,” she says quietly, and then she’s gone, her heels clicking down the hall.

I CHECK OUT of the hospital the next day with a bottle full of antibiotics that rattles in its paper bag. Frankie picks me up in the Frankenstein, which makes up a little bit for being rolled to the curb in a wheelchair like an invalid. Frankie drives carefully and talks about the bar. The insurance people are going to drag their feet, he says, but Johnny Shaw is already making noise about lawsuits. “Plus your uncle knows somebody who might be able to replace the ovens pretty quick,” he adds.

“Of course he does. So the bar will be up and running soon?”

Frankie shrugs as he passes a minivan full of kids. “Might be another two weeks, but I think so, yeah.” A smile slowly crosses his face.

“Look at you, all happy. Do you have a piece in the car?”

Frankie’s smile freezes in place. “What for?”

“Need to make a stop before you take me home.”

THE HOUSE IS a brick ranch that was brand new in 1960 but looks like nothing about it has been changed since except the light bulbs. The front lawn is mown down to within an inch of its life, and the bricks are a mottled pale red and dirty white. There’s a single-car garage on one side of the house, and the garage door is down, but I’m pretty sure what’s parked in there.

“Are you nuts?” Frankie says.

“You seriously still don’t know the answer to that?” I take his .38 revolver from the glove compartment, check the cylinder, and stick it in my pocket. “Just stay here. Honk if there’s a problem.”

“A problem?”