“If you’d listen to me, the police won’t even be a problem.” I did not want to think about murder. I did not want to think about Ellen dead in the back seat of Klein’s car. I explained what I wanted, that we had an opportunity to take Carrigan, make a windfall without the Lady being involved. That we could ship enough money the way of the police that they would forget all about Ellen and then it would be smooth sailing for all of us. I left out one or two details.

Jackal stared past me, thinking it through. His tongue swiveled around his lips, and then he shook his head. “It won’t work.”

“I know it will,” I said. It had to. Jackal looked skeptical. “Besides,” I went on, feeling nasty and liking it, “there’s always those photographs. I think the fact that I haven’t mentioned them to Lou or the Lady is worth something. I think the Lady would be pretty pissed if she found out you were making side money off her business. Doesn’t that make you a liability? Particularly now, when we all need to keep a low profile.”

Jackal chewed on his lip and avoided looking at me. He kept fiddling with something in his pocket. I tried to think of another time I’d seen him nervous. I couldn’t think of any.

Finally, Jackal scratched the back of his head, laughed bitterly. “Oh yes, there’s always those photographs, aren’t there?” He shoved me out of the way, poured himself another drink. Nearly chewed through the glass to get at the liquor. He needed courage for whatever he was about to tell me. “How about this, sweetheart. They’re not for blackmail. Well, not anymore. They’re for the police.”

“What?” I blinked, gaping at him. “How did this happen? How long?”

He told me the whole story. How one of Lou’s marks had lodged a formal complaint, then retracted it, but the police had followed up on the tip anyway, started asking questions about the organization. How Jackal had been stealthily sliding photographs, a few throwaway shots of older cases, undated, to the police in exchange for immunity, should he ever need it.