“Now, coming back to our categories. For your information, we have five. Five says nothing’s wrong. You’re no longer in that category. Nor Four. You would have been a Category Three, which says there is evidence of neglect and a ninety-day investigation is to be opened and support services offered to parents. However, since I’ve confirmed you haven’t cooperated on the support offered, it means you’re now a Category Two.”

Spencer waited, breath shallow, hangover concentrated into a small point of pain just above his brow. He hadn’t noticed his dick had finally gone soft.

“Category Two means there is evidence of neglect and danger. The case is open for another thirty days so there’ll be further investigations. Your name is going on a list called Central Registry. This means you can’t be a teacher or nurse or do any job working with the public. But I have to further advise you, Mister Burnham, that in view of the immediate danger to Abby from your drug and alcohol abuse and inability to provide a roof over her head, it’s my intention to move this up to a Category One, where the children are taken out of the home, or wherever home might be.”

And boom—the 3-2-1 Girl was back.

29

29

Pushing the Button

“I just want to make sure I heard Johnny Boy right. We’re talking forty grand of clean money,” said Cal, putting his feet up on the empty chair beside him. To McGrath, that was a pretty bald-faced affront; those chairs retailed at a grand apiece. They were stolen but still. More to the point, by putting his feet up like that, just after he’d questioned McGrath’s judgment, it was as if he were saying, Oh this should be good. Let’s hear it.

Cal was becoming a source of vexation. The underlying reason was clear: he felt McGrath was making poor decisions. Cal thought highly of himself.

“Cal, do you remember when Max Petrovsky came in here last?”

“Sure. He was wavering.”

“Exactly. Wavering,” agreed McGrath. “How many times had he been in?”

“No idea. I lost interest after the first two visits.”

“Now that’s the difference between you and me, Cal. I manufacture opportunities. Most times, that takes longer than folks expect. But you? Well, you work the numbers. But you wouldn’t have any numbers to work if it wasn’t for me. Or Johnny Boy. I know you’re struggling with the Max Petrovsky thing but being as I’m a patient sonofabitch I’m going to walk you through it one more time. After one thing. Either you slide those hooves offa my seat or I’m gonna put mine right up on that suede dash next time you take me out in your sparkly little Porsche.”

Cal obliged with a shrug.