Werth says, “Sorry. No can do.”

“Like I said: let me show you something. Then we’ll talk.”

“You gonna kill me?”

“It is not part of my plan.”

He sees that flash of uncertainty. The half-and-half doesn’t believe him. That’s OK. Candlefly smiles. Offers up both hands in surrender. “Please. This’ll only take a moment. I want to show you how I learned about Mookie’s daughter. Will you permit a stranger a moment of unearned trust?”

There comes a moment when Werth thinks, maybe I’ll just kill this motherfucker. Candlefly’s gotta go. I’m not a killer, but I’ve killed. I’m older now. Slower. And I hurt like I just got thrown onto the highway and hit by every truck, bus, and car driving down it – but I can do it.

Part of it is the way Candlefly moves. Something about him radiates gentility – a refinement that suggests he doesn’t have the stones for a real scrap. Sure, he can point his finger and make people do stuff. Anybody with money has that power. But the way he moves is like water following the path of least resistance. Soft-wristed gestures of the hand. The way his head rolls loose on his neck like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

All this in contrast to the Boss, who for an old fucker is still a pit bull. Last year Werth saw Zoladski stick a knife in the arm of Jamarcus Kensie, a thug up out of the Black Sleeves gang. They were sitting across from each other, and Jamarcus was starting to get ballsy, dropping verbal jabs and slinging smart-ass bullshit that was about as subtle as a machete to the neck. The Boss moved quick. Snick-click. Switchblade. It spun in his hand. Blade up, then down, then slammed between the two bones that made up Jamarcus’s forearm.

Kathunk.

Boss said that’s how you do it. Never stick ’em in the hand. Those two bones, you can pin anybody anywhere. Boss said, “That’s how they pinned Christ to the cross, you know.”

The Boss is a tough nut. A hard lump of coal.

Candlefly is a piece of chocolate melting in a hot hand, a long lash of tall grass swaying in the slightest breeze. He’s both a prick and a pussy.

Not impressed, Werth thinks.

So: kill him. That’s what’s got to happen. Except the Snakeface is here. But then: suddenly, he’s not. He stays in the kitchen as Candlefly leads Werth along the downstairs hall. Candlefly walks, head tall. Werth hobbles. And all the while the man in the sharp tan suit is talking, saying, “I understand that you and Pearl have worked together a very long time–”

“Almost twenty years now.”

“That kind of time forges bonds. So, I understand your reticence to give me the location your friend. Have you ever run a business before?”

“Eh. No.”