He took off his jacket, unlocked the door and went inside. The others had already returned. Hicks was taking off his dirty jacket and Chase was fixing a drink. Ziggy, who had been monitoring proceedings from the apartment, got up and stretched out the kinks in his shoulders.

“How did it go?” Ziggy asked.

“I think it went well.”

“He bought it?”

“Maybe. He’ll research me—it’s on you now.”

“You don’t need to worry,” Ziggy said. “The legend is secure.”

“Good, because if it isn’t…” Milton sliced his finger across his throat.

“It’s solid. Trust me. And,” he added, with a wink, “I own all his devices. His internet security is practically non-existent. If he sends an email or makes a call, I’ll know about it.”

Hicks took a beer from the fridge, popped the lid and came over. “You weren’t followed on the way out.”

“You’re sure?”

“Definitely. I tailed you until you got the Uber. You didn’t see me?”

“Of course I saw you,” Milton said.

“Probably smelled you,” Ziggy suggested.

Hicks raised his middle finger. “What was he like?”

“López? Suspicious.”

“Is he going to take the bait?”

“Don’t know. He’s not interested in the bigger deal—doesn’t want to step on Jackson’s toes.”

“We knew that.”

“We did.”

“The smaller one, though?”

“That’s possible.”

“Possible?” Chase said.

“I think he’ll go for it. We need to make him a payment. I said I’d do that to prove that I’m serious.” He turned to Ziggy. “You need to do that now.”

“How much?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Got the account?”

He took the folded napkin from his pocket and handed it to Ziggy. Milton had confiscated the five million dollars that Richard Russo had extorted from the cartel in Las Vegas, and intended to use that to fund this operation. It had secured the rent on this property and the clothes that he had bought to maintain the illusion that he was a man of substance; now it would pay for the cocaine that López would ship. There was a pleasing symmetry in the arrangement that was not lost on Milton: use the cartel’s money to buy the cartel’s product and, eventually, bring the cartel down. He liked that.

“Will you be able to get into his account?”

“Probably. Anything you’d like to know?”

Milton shrugged. “Money in, money out. Who’s he paying? Who’s paying him?”

“Leave it with me,” Ziggy said.

Hicks took off his battered and holed sneakers, stretched out his legs and rested his feet on the table. “You think he’ll call Jackson?”

“I doubt it,” Milton said. “What’s he going to say? As far as López knows, an old friend of his business partner just turned up out of nowhere and said he was unreliable. It’s more likely that he’ll start looking into that.”