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Chapters (57)
  1. Welcome to the Game
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraphs
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. Six months later . . .
  56. Acknowledgments
  57. Back Cover

Spencer watched them, aghast. Suddenly, McGrath turned and fired once into Eddie’s face. One moment, Eddie was there in front of Spencer, alive and firing, the next he was flat out and still. A pool of blood ballooned from his faceless head on the filthy ground. After a moment, Spencer had to shuffle away from it.

McGrath shook Spencer’s shoulder. “Listen to me.” But Spencer couldn’t take his eyes off Eddie’s faceless body.

McGrath threw his gun and phone out into the water, the movement masked by the darkness and chaotic shooting. He grabbed an old rag and washed his hands of gunfire residue in an oily puddle. “Spencer, look at me. Whatever happens, you keep your mouth shut. This didn’t happen. Eddie took a cop’s bullet. Got that? Got that? You don’t know me, Spencer, and you don’t know where those two put their money. Nothing else. Make the rest up.”

McGrath took off his jacket and waved it above the car, yelling out surrender. The firing stopped. McGrath stood with his hands raised. Spencer heard the shuffle of fast-moving feet and shouting as the cops closed in.

“I don’t know what this is about,” McGrath was saying. “You hear? They asked me to meet them here.” His voice sounded anxious but when his eyes found Spencer’s again, they were cold and calm and so very clear in purpose. They were the last thing Spencer saw before his own closed.

46

46

Team Draft

Blackness.

Time. Time to work things out.

Was I good enough? To get to the nice place? Or is this it? Just . . . blackness?

A big pool of blackness. Swimming in it. Lost.

Pools of blackness.

“That’s it, Spencer, wakey wakey. We don’t have ourselves a whole lot of time.”

“Johnny Boy?”

“Well, strictly speaking, you don’t know that. And I don’t know you either. In fact, we just met, you and I.”

Spencer looked around. Hospital room. IV drip. Bleeping. He looked back at Johnny Boy.

“My leg? My leg, is it OK?” He tried to sit up. Couldn’t. So tired.

“Still there, Spencer. Chipped femur. Missed the femoral artery or you’d be talking to a guy with wings right now. You lost a lot of blood, hence the drip. You’ve been through the wars, Spencer, but it’s not over yet. And we don’t have a whole lot of time before the cop outside gets word that I’m not a practicing lawyer anymore. So, you need to reassure me that you’re going take in what we’re going to discuss.”

“Dom killed Eddie. Why did he do that?”

“I’ll take that as a yes then. Didn’t you know? The cops killed Eddie? They’ll dig out a bullet that could have come from any police-issue handgun.”

“I don’t get it.”