McGrath focused on getting over there. He pulled up nearly at right angles to the Buick, facing the quayside, got out, and walked around Spencer’s car.

Inside, the Yo-Yo stared straight ahead. “I’m gonna ask you once only, Spencer. Then I’m gonna start blowin’ body parts away.” He grasped Spencer’s burned hand in a viselike grip, then twisted the blistered fingers savagely. “Where. Is. It?”

Spencer screamed and screamed until the grip relaxed. “I told you. I put it somewhere safe! I don’t want to keep it. Sweet Jesus, I just want to be left alone. You think I didn’t see this coming?”

The Yo-Yo knew he would struggle to keep the pace slow when he got to work on Spencer. He jammed his gun hard into Spencer’s cheek.

“First one’ll go right through. You’ll leak like a watering can. Now, where the fuck is—”

And those were the last words the Yo-Yo ever said, as suddenly the windshield shattered and his shirt puffed open like a ragged flower, a thick fountain of blood at its center. The back of his seat erupted. He slumped forward, pistol clutched loosely in his hand, its muzzle smoking.

Spencer looked down at his right thigh, where blood welled, soaking the singed fabric. “No, fuck!”

A bullhorn rended the gloom. “This is the police! Lay down your weapons. Put your hands out of the windows! Do it now!”

McGrath had hit the deck the moment the Yo-Yo got his ballistic therapy. He crawled around the back of the Buick. Spencer half fell out, clutching his leg, trying to staunch the bleeding.

Again the bullhorn hollered. “You’re covered by a marksman. Stand up!”

Eddie joined them. He didn’t look too keen on going out in a blaze of glory. McGrath didn’t miss that. He took out his gun: a Glock 22.

“Get your gun out, Eddie.”

Spencer groaned, only vaguely aware of what was happening now.

“This is fucked, Dom,” said Eddie.

“Get your gun out, Eddie.”

“Dom—”

“Eddie, what did you say back in my office? We’re all looking at serious time here. Now you see what they got out there? Just a few shooters. This is Detroit. Spencer?”

Spencer was staring at the blood surging up through his fingers.

“Spencer!”

Spencer looked at him, wide-eyed and ashen.

“The money, Spencer. You sure it’s safe?”

Spencer nodded.

“Eddie,” said McGrath. “Put some covering fire down on them.”

Eddie looked at McGrath blankly. McGrath raised his gun over the hood of the Merc. “Like this. Do it!” McGrath started firing.

Eddie shook his head, raised his gun, and started firing blindly.

The cops returned fire. Windows on both cars collapsed. A tire went down. Rounds pinged off bodywork.