Hagan opened the door and Steve asked him when he’d be back with the girls.

“Oh,” the cabbie said, “maybe half an hour.”

“Okay. Knock twice fast, once slow, and say, ‘Steve, this is Johnny.’ Got it?”

“Twice fast, once slow, ‘Steve, this is Johnny.’ Got it.”

And Hagan was gone.

The air seemed to go out of Steve. He’d come down from the Bennies, then got rattled by that car pulling up, which had him going again; but that was over now and he was looking at me with those familiar dead dull eyes. He went over to the nightstand and poured himself a glass of whiskey from the half-empty bottle. Or maybe he was an optimist and it was half-full.

“You want a snort, Nate?” He was pacing as he drank. A slow pace, but pacing.

“No thanks. Sit down, Carl.”

He caught it quicker than I figured he would.

He stopped in mid-pace and said, “Carl?”

“That’s your name. Your first name. What’s the last?”

He trudged over to the bed and sat on the edge like he’d done so often yesterday and today. Sat hunch-shouldered. Defeat settled on him like heavy humidity.

I dragged a chair over and sat facing him, but he was looking past me into nothing.

“Your last name, Carl. What is it?”

“Hall. How did you know my name is Carl?”

“Bonnie told me.”

Now he looked at me. “Bonnie!”

“You left a newspaper with the apartment marked on it here in this room. When you slipped out this afternoon, I found it. Went over to Arsenal Street and had a little talk with her.”

“What did she tell you?”

“Not much. She was pretty drunk.”

“Big surprise.”

“Here’s the thing. My friends in Chicago don’t like surprises. If you don’t come clean with them, they’ll find you and kill you.”

“Kill me.”

“Right. If they’re going to risk fencing that money, they need to know exactly what happened and what your role was in it. If Tom Marsh killed the boy, they will want Marsh in custody or better still dead, but out of the way. That’s a must before they can do business with you. A must before they wash that dirty goddamn money of yours.”

His laugh was a small thing that happened in his chest and barely got out. A private joke. But then he shared it: “Tom Marsh had nothing to do with this. He wasn’t involved. He’s a guy I met in a bar once, yeah, and we pulled a small job together, but…I haven’t seen him in a couple years. His name just popped in my head when I needed…someone to blame.”

“Is the boy dead?”

“Yeah. Since the first day.”

That made me squint at him, like I was trying to believe he was really sitting there. “What do you mean…the first day?”

“Bonnie picked the kid up at that school. A cab took her and him. Dropped them at a Katz Drug parking lot where I was waiting with our station wagon. I had her dog along with me—Doc. She raises boxers. She’s good with dogs and horses and other dumb animals. We told the kid we were going to get him some ice cream. You know how kids like ice cream. I took Westport Road into Kansas. Into farmland. The kid enjoyed the ride. I drove us into a field and stopped. Bonnie took Doc out for a walk. I was going to strangle the kid, but I didn’t bring enough rope. He fought like a little wildcat.”