“Yeah, I thought that,” said Johnny Boy. “Been mullin’ it. It’ll come to me.”

“Might be able to use him.”

“Clark Park,” said Johnny Boy.

“Clark Park. That’s it.” A pause. Then, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Pucky’s crew?”

“Would be a shame if the Clark Park homies over at the Vernor Highway thought one of their little bros was whacked by one of Pucky’s guys, wouldn’t it? Just when they’re getting all tight ’n’ all.”

“Yeah,” said Johnny Boy. “Could feed a little tidbit in on the grapevine. Put in a few facts only the cops or the killers would know. Always good to capitalize on good fortune.”

“Like the way you roll on that social media shit.” With that, McGrath got out of the car.

The Yo-Yo fetched a jerrican from the SUV’s trunk and emptied it over the Infiniti.

“Anything you need from your car, Spence?” asked McGrath, now standing beside him.

Spencer struggled to think about anything other than what he’d just witnessed.

“I, uh, my phone, I guess.”

McGrath called out to the Yo-Yo to wait before lighting up the automotive pyre.

The Yo-Yo stepped back to allow Spencer access. He flipped the lid on his Zippo impatiently. The killing had been loud. It was time to be somewhere else.

Spencer delved into the driver’s door. He did this carefully to avoid the gore. He grabbed his phone and his hip flask, unaware that the Yo-Yo was watching closely.

Spencer scanned his car’s interior. The kid in the footwell’s eyes were open and looking in different directions. The Yo-Yo had delivered the extra bullet, the act of thoroughness of which Johnny Boy had so approved, through the temple and it had turned everything inside out on its way through. For a moment, Spencer thought he was going to retch again.

“You wanna make friends with him in there, Spencer, or do you wanna hurry the fuck up?”

Spencer was about to get out when he caught the eye of a dead president poking out of the bag underneath the kid’s body. He looked at George Washington’s blood-spattered white cravat, wondering how he’d never noticed that the faces on dollar bills seemed to stare right at you, with this look that said, I know what you did to get your hands on me.

“Spencer, I swear I’m gonna light you up with them.”

Spencer thought about the bag of money, about Milt, who’d filled it barely an hour before, and wondered what to do. Let it burn? Because he felt guilty about Milt? What good would that do? Then it would be just ash in the night.