“Of course. We owe them because of Gabe … like a debt. When Decker calls, asks for help, I try to accommodate him. Once I feel I’ve paid him off, it’s over.”

“Oh, sure,” I said. “And that’s why you took a bullet for Rina?”

He was silent. Then he said, “Rina’s spooky. She can read minds. Like she has this direct pipeline upstairs. I want to keep on her good side. When it’s all over, we’ll be going to different places. But maybe she can put in a good word for me.”

I smiled, but he couldn’t see it. Which was probably good. He sounded serious. I said, “What about Gabe?”

“Gabe is my son. I would die for him.” A pause. “I admire Gabe. He’s had some tough times, but he’s done well and he’s his own man. But if I never saw him again, I wouldn’t miss him much.”

Then I said, “What about me?”

“Yeah, you.” He was quiet. “Do you remember our conversation when you dumped me?”

“I asked you for the drawings, and you wouldn’t give them to me.”

“No, the second time. Right after we graduated high school.”

“You mean the time you tried to kill me?”

“I didn’t try to kill you.”

“You shot at me.”

“Exactly. I shot at you. At is the operative word. If I had wanted to kill you, you would have been dead.”

“You could have missed.”

“Not at that range … We’re getting far afield. Do you remember our conversation?”

I sighed. “We talked about the gigs—”

“After that.”

I thought a moment. “You said that if I talk about the gigs to anyone, you’d kill me—”

“Before that.”

“You have a very specific time frame in mind.” I thought a moment. “You said something about a pit bull … that if the pit bull was trained to kill, was it the dog’s fault if he did what he was trained to do.”

“Right on the cheddar.”

I waited.

“Only I’m not a pit bull, I’m a Neapolitan Mastiff. You know what that is?”

“I know what a mastiff is.”

“Not an English Mastiff. A Mastino is different. It’s a big motherfucking dog with an enormous head and a massive body. Mine was around a hundred and seventy pounds of pure bone and muscle—and drool.” He chuckled. “Duke died about six months ago. I was thinking about getting another one, but then you came along and I figured it wasn’t the right time.”

“You named your dog Duke?”

“Ducati Italiano. Duke for short.”

“Oh.” I shrugged. “I like dogs. Don’t let me stop you.”