“Sol will want it.”

The name cast a quiet chill over the room. Robby glanced up and saw Jim staring down at the carpet, brow furrowed.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure he does.” Jim snatched up his raincoat and raided the hidden inner pockets, finding a steady trickle of cash, wallets, and cards. His hands were the only part of him that didn’t fit his homeless image—smooth hands, compact, adept as any stage magician’s. The first time she’d met him, Robby had hardly felt the dip that took her watch, and god knew she’d been looking for it.

She smiled at him and saw him look away. The pain took her unexpectedly; it hurt to have him mistrust her, after three years of perfect partnership. Mark, Kelly—she liked them, in a fondly annoyed way. But Jim—

In the bathroom, the shower came on. Jim’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened. Before he could get out whatever damning thing he was thinking, the bathroom door banged open.

“Hey!” The hooker held onto the door and leaned out, naked, barely covered by the angle. “Hey, where’sa soap?”

“In the soapdish,” he said wearily. The hooker disappeared back into the bathroom, and the door slammed. More bumps and bangs, the rattle of a shower curtain. “Robby—”

“I know. I’m sorry.” She spread her hands helplessly.

He shook his head and counted bills; it was something his fingers did automatically, a machine-quick fanning of paper. Robby began counting her stack, lost track, and had to start again.

By the time she’d finished, everyone else was done. She took a deep breath and handed over her totals.

“Slow day,” Kelly said neutrally, as she added on a pocket calculator. “Jim, what you figure on cards?”

“I can get fifty each.”

“I’ll say forty, in case. Yeah, okay. I’ll let you know about the ATM totals. Right now, it’s—” She held up the calculator and angled it to get a better look. “Three thousand seven hundred ninety-three. Minus Sol’s slice, of course.”

“Of course,” Jim said. “If he’s coming.”

“Not today. He said for me to take it for him.” Kelly was looking down at her calculator; over her head, Jim looked across at Robby. The doubt was subtle but real, and she knew he read it in her face, too. Sol was a necessary evil—the local wiseguys needed to feel in control—but Kelly had slowly but surely become Mafia-by-marriage, only without the marriage. Nobody liked it.

Nobody had much to say about it, either.

“Ooh, honey, sounds serious,” Mark cooed. She slapped his hand. “Carrying his money. More important than carrying his baby.”

“Shut up,” Kelly said, a little too sharply. Her round face colored shell-pink. “He asked me to do it.”

“Uh-huh. Sure he did.”

“Mark—”

“Heck, honey, I don’t care, I was just hoping for a second date with him.” Mark batted his eyelashes. Robby saw the malicious gleam in his smile and winced. Kelly didn’t tease well. “Those Italians. Spicy sausage.”