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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

The Yo-Yo turned to Rosso. When he did, Eddie turned away. For although it wasn’t meant to be a day of killing, it was to be a day of pain for some, and Eddie didn’t want to watch the Yo-Yo work. If he could have blotted out the noise he would have, but he, too, needed to know what Rosso might say, because he had his position to think of. Eddie was the new guy, and gaps in an outfit like McGrath’s—tight, careful, old-school Detroit—didn’t open up too often, especially for a loner from Nebraska.

The Yo-Yo asked his questions quietly and calmly. It occurred to Eddie that everything about the Yo-Yo revolved around the need for violence in their business. What he said and the way he said it was either leading to violence or calculating when violence might come into play. The guy watched football, drank sometimes, fucked whores but never dated. For the most part, he just waited to work.

The fear in Rosso leaked and seeped out everywhere. In his tremulous voice, made scratchy by the breathing tube, in his heart rate monitor, bleeping ever faster, and in his sweat, glistening in this chilly room.

“I’m good at this, Rosso. You know that, so you know you’re going to tell me what you’ve told them.”

“Uh-uh.”

“Sure you are.”

“Nothin’. Told them nothin’.”

“Rosso, you told them about drop-offs Dom was gonna be on.”

Rosso’s tubes and pipes rattled as he shook his head.

“Rosso, don’t fuck with me. Bad start. Johnny Boy’s been watching you. I’ve been watching you. How else would the cops know Dom was supposed to be with you?”

Rosso said nothing.

“Rosso, Dom wants you to know that what’s been has been. You tried to fuck us, but you can be out. That pad in Anchorville? All quiet, do some fishing? Don’t you want that?”

Eddie heard the pipes and tubes rattle again.

“OK then,” continued the Yo-Yo. “I’m gonna ask you one question. Tell me the truth. Don’t make me do bad things to you, Rosso. Understand?”

Eddie was reminded of that game show, when some smartass decides to gamble all their winnings on getting the last question right.

“Tell me what you’ve told the cops about the other stuff. About Max.”

“Nothing!” It was a whispered scream. Whining, grating. Vocal chords fighting with plastic tubing, pain and terror.

“That was the wrong answer, Rosso.”

And the Yo-Yo went to work.

11

11

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