Patrick takes a swallow of beer and smacks his lips. “The other funny thing, Jimbo was always blinking. I mean, like the way you blink when you’ve got a stray eyelash or a fleck of dust. He would do it in threes. Blink, blink, blink. Not to everyone, but I’d catch him at it every so often. Ever see anyone do that?”

I nod.

“Yeah. So, Jimbo kept his head down most of the time, shuffling around papers and making copies. Every afternoon, around three, he’d leave the office saying he had a meeting with some guy across town. He’d pack up his briefcase and walk right out the door. I don’t know if anyone noticed, not at first, but when he came back, that briefcase seemed lighter. You could tell by watching the way he swung it. I never said anything about that. Not to anyone.”

My beer is warm now, and I don’t want it. I set the bottle down on the flagstone and turn back to Patrick. “But someone caught him.”

“Someone always catches them, babe. Always. Sooner or later, you fuck up.” There’s a pause, and then: “I don’t mean you. I mean ‘you,’ like, in the general sense.” He pats my hand, and all I notice is how clean his hands are. “He must have seen it coming. Jimbo, that is. Because the week before they shot him, he came to me. Asked if I was as pure as the rest of them.” Patrick laughs lightly, but there’s no humor in it. “Guess I don’t look like a bad guy, eh?”

“No. You don’t.” I’ve never thought of Patrick as a bad guy, only a keep-your-head-down-and-shut-up kind of guy. But I don’t say this. I know where the conversation is going.

“Jimbo left something for me, before they took him out of the office in handcuffs. Just a name and a number. Said it was my decision whether to make contact or not, and that he hoped I would but wouldn’t hold it against me if I stepped aside. That’s how I got in touch with Del. You saw what happened to Del this morning.”

“Yeah.”