“I get around. But then so do you.”

“Union organizing knows few boundaries.”

“Not the way you do it, it doesn’t.” I leaned back, folding my arms. “You know, you probably didn’t courier that money to Chicago yourself. I’m guessing you let Downey, working with somebody on the Outfit end, handle getting that bundle to the Southmoor Bank.”

He flipped a pudgy hand. “No idea what you’re talking about, son.”

“You were the big shot in Joe’s rec room. You saw all that money, Barney, and were the only one smart enough to know just how hot it was. You knew damn well the likes of Hoffa and top Outfit guys like Accardo and Humphreys would not want jack shit to do with the bloodiest blood money to ever come down the pike. They have kids of their own, and like to think they got lines they won’t cross. And even any who maybe could stomach where that dough came from, knew if it ever came out? The public blowback would be disastrous.”

He had a lopsided grin going. “I’d cry if it wasn’t so goddamn funny, what you’re saying!”

“Well, please don’t cry. There’s been enough of that.”

He leaned forward, patting my sleeve. “Nate, buddy, pal, amigo, come on. This is good ’ol Barney you’re talking to. Barney Baker, friend of the working man. Barney Baker, Civil Rights activist.”

“You mean, Barney Baker who showed up at the President Hotel just in time to shove me in the middle of Joe Costello’s plan to make a big score?”

He shook the tiny head; it was like the lid on a big bottle trying to screw itself off. “Hey, I was just on the fringes! I do what I always do—open doors, grease the wheels, you know, facilitate.”

Now I leaned in. “I don’t think you were on the fringes, Barney. I think you were either down out of sight with your hands jammed up the puppets’ asses, or else up in the theater flies working the strings on the marionettes.”

Finally he scowled at me. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Barney. You’re a smart guy, self-educated. Hell, you know words like ‘facilitate.’ You have nothing to worry about from me. I can’t put you in that rec room. And the other players are too fucking scared of you…good old jolly Barney.”

He raised a forefinger. “You wanna back off on this now, Nate. Right now.”

I grinned at him. “The one thing I don’t know…the one thing I’d still like to know is…were you in on it from the start? Did you know about the kidnapping all along? How could you not be hungry for a nice big pile of that Greenlease green? Then that psycho screwed you and Costello and everybody by putting a bullet in that sweet little boy’s head. Did you, Barney? Know all along?”

He reared like a bull elephant at its trainer. “What the hell difference does it make, Heller? Does it bring that kid back? Who made you the fuckin’ conscience of America all of a sudden?”