“So, Max Petrovsky. He’s worked for that company for thirty-five years. Spotless record. No one thinks him remotely capable of doing anything that involves tech shit. So he’s an essential part of what could be a fucking perfect crime. But he’s scared shitless he might lose his pension or give himself away by getting all shaky and nervous, that kind of shit. So he’ll only do it on his last day. That’s one shot, Cal. That day is coming. Every time he came by here he was like: ‘Oh, I dunno, Mister McGrath.’ And of late he even asked us to stop asking him. It wasn’t looking good.”

“Should have just threatened him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Should have just found something that mattered to him and—”

“Oh wow, you really like to go straight for your guns, don’t you, Cal?”

“Hey, you always say you want an honest opinion.”

“Always value an honest opinion, just not one that’s more likely to get us a lifetime pass to prisneyland. Tell me, honestly, which is the best scenario. I say to a guy who’s been an honest working man his whole life: ‘Hey, Max, either you play ball with us or I’m going to arrange for your daughter-in-law to have a life-changing encounter with a train.’ Or: ‘Max, I know you’re in deep shit so I’m going to help you take care of a loved one, but I need something in return and no one else need ever know.’ Tell me, Cal, which option do you think is more desirable if you were this guy?”

The two looked at each other. Cal took a certain pride in not caring whether anyone liked him. McGrath, on the other hand, was brilliant at winning people over. Cal mistook that talent for need.

“Johnny Boy says the kid’s probably not even going to make it anyway,” he said.

“Not my problem, Cal. Just make sure his bills are paid. All of them. If he’s going to buy the farm, then he can have a nice funeral on me.”

Johnny Boy entered as Cal left. He stood passively, hands in pockets, until they heard the reception door swing shut.

“We’re a go,” said McGrath.

“As of when?”

“As of when I got back from Canada last night and Max was standing on my porch.”

Johnny Boy nodded, mulling what this meant, what needed to happen. “How long?”

“Waiting for his last shift schedule but he figures his last day will be end of next month.”

“You want me to move it up a gear with Spencer?”

“Yep. And your little freakster, he come through for us?”

“I’m going to put my money on Asperger’s. But put it this way: I have a goddamn two-foot doll in my car.”

Spencer felt numb as they headed south down the flat open road that was Dequindre Street.