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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

Well, we were the puck that fucked Pucky’s crew. You can’t say that after five bourbons I tell ya. And soon I figure we’ll fuck the Vernor Highway crew too. We’ve fucked most of those boys one time or another. Except none of them knows it. Kept them fighting, biting, and fragging each other like rats in a sack. Turn right here. That’s right, Spencer. Pucky’s gonna need to find another two right-hand guys. But that’s probably gonna take some balls on his part, and rumor has it he don’t have any of those no more.

The recording stopped. Silence reigned. Pucky stared at the screen.

“That recording,” said Schaeffer, “is inadmissible as evidence. And you and I both know you wouldn’t want to help any investigation into that hit on you anyways.”

“So why’d you bring it?” said Pucky. The fury sizzled in his voice.

“I’m not a cop anymore. I don’t have to follow the rules. And that piece of shit you’re hearing there? I hate him as much as you do. Why don’t I just give you a couple of names and we forget we ever met?”

Five minutes later, Schaeffer was escorted to his car. He got in, started up, and drove off without a backward glance.

When he got home, he went to his study and sat down at his desk. He looked at his daughter’s picture for a long time. Then he opened a drawer and took out his first service revolver. He put it in his mouth and, still looking at her smiling face, pulled the trigger.

The End

Acknowledgments

Acknowledgments

There were a number of reasons why this story had to take place in Detroit and hence why I needed to speak at length with the Detroit Police. In spite of my assurances that this was a work of fiction, the Detroit Police Department rebuffed my requests to talk with their investigators for eight months. Quite understandable. For all they knew, I might have been seeking to “do a number” on them. Eventually they said they had someone who’d speak to me and who I can now thank. Ellis Stafford retired from Michigan State Police as Inspector and Assistant Division Commander and continues fighting crime as Deputy Director of the Detroit Crime Commission, a nonprofit organization that works collaboratively with residents and community leaders to create safe communities for all of Detroit’s citizens. Ellis’s assistance was invaluable in making this book as feasible and accurate as it could be.

I should also thank my friend and fellow TV presenter, Alex­andra Legouix, for facilitating meetings with the next person I want to thank: David Llewellin, two-time winner of the British Rally Championship. On one occasion, while surrounded by eavesdropping racing enthusiasts at Goodwood, he earnestly explained to me how to build the perfect getaway car. I wonder what they made of that.