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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

“No one knows except McGrath and Johnny Boy and they’re going to keep it that way until the last possible moment. But I’ll tell you something. It’s soon. It’s plain to see. Two reasons. One. He’s focusing resources on this. Closer something is, the more time, effort, and money it takes. Just like a wedding. That car Burnham’s driving? He doesn’t need that for the standard cleaning run. A little grunt, sure, but not that much. Two, and this is the big one, why bring in someone like Burnham at all? Yeah, sure, no one knows him so he can’t be a snitch, I get that. But if you were McGrath you just wouldn’t use someone like him. People like him shit their pants when they’re exposed to this world. I bet Burnham’s pissing off McGrath’s crew. I bet he’s hard work.

“So why then?”

“McGrath’s leaving.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s quitting.” Batiste laughed, shaking his head as if he’d been stupid to miss it. “He’s actually going to quit while he’s ahead.”

The depot’s barrier rose and Spencer’s car pulled onto Noble and powered past them.

“The guy’s untouchable behind the wheel, Evan. You won’t bust him with dirty money.”

“Untouchable?” Batiste watched the Subaru take a right on Gibson and disappear from view. “We’ll see about that.”

22

22

False Favors

Spencer slipped right back into work. The money kept coming in. Broken parts of town, broken lives, all generating profit. Street, alley, suburb, and city. Seeing without even looking for the different cars that spelled danger: state police, sheriff’s department, DPD. Sometimes two hundred miles in a day.

One morning, waiting for a light to change on Martin Luther, he found himself wondering where this man had come from, this auto alchemist who turned tainted money to riches by sleight of hand. Something about it reminded him of his other life.

His watch caught the sun as he gently drummed the wheel, and suddenly he was three miles east, four years back, and it was a bright, cold day in fall. He and Marielle had taken Abby along the Riverwalk, where she’d been entranced by those sidewalk magicians, slickly relieving people of their possessions and then “finding” them in hoods and pockets. It had been the best of days, and Spencer had felt blessed to feel at home so far from home.

Afterward, heading back, they’d been waiting in a long line of traffic when he’d felt Marielle’s hand close around his as it rested on the shift. Without looking at her, he’d lifted both their hands and kissed the back of hers.

She’d thanked him. It made him turn to her. She was pulling her scarf off, freeing her dark blonde hair, her smooth skin flushed now by the heat inside the car.