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“Tell him to get in line. Where’s Joey Machine?”

  “That prick? One of my guys saw him coming out of the King Eddie.”

  “Is he being watched?”

  “Yeah, sure, sure. Don’t worry about that prick, Jack. One word from me, my guys move in and it’s all over.”

  Yeah. For them.

  “Tell your guys to back the fuck off. This one’s mine.”

  “Listen, Jack, this isn’t a good time. I need you here. This thing with Little Vito … there’s gonna be a war.”

  “I hate to break it to you, Tommy: the war has begun.”

  Grover met me in a little dingy pub near Yonge and Wellesley. I was sitting in the back with my back to the wall. There was a pint of soda water bubbling in front of me.

  Grover, impeccable as always in a white suit with a navy-blue shirt, slid into the booth across from me. No hellos — he’d heard my tone over the phone. He jumped right in. “What’s up?”

  “The Chief’s dead.”

  Grover inhaled sharply, sucking through his teeth. “What happened?”

  “Not sure. Someone sent me his jacket in a box.”

  “His jacket.” Grover frowned. “You didn’t see his body?”

  “He never goes anywhere without that jacket. There was blood all over it.”

  Grover squinted. “Joey Machine.”

  “I think so.”

  “Sounds like his style.” Grover sat stock-still, turning into a small white statue. Finally he blinked. “Where is he?”

  “Tommy says he’s at the King Eddie.”

  “Tommy’s a fucking idiot.”

  I don’t know why, but I suddenly felt protective toward Tommy. Yeah, he was a fucking idiot. He was a mean drunk who treated people like shit. But deep down, on some level, he was just like the rest of us. He was just trying to do the best he could with what he had.

  Grover stood up. “I’ll check it out.”

  The little man in the white suit turned and headed for the door.

  “Grover!”

  He turned.

  “This one’s mine.”

  A server edged past carrying a platter of chicken wings. Grover waited for her to pass, then stepped closer to me. “Fuck that. We’re in this together, Jack. The Chief —” Grover broke off. I swear he was about to break into tears. “The Chief was my friend, too.”

  Then he was gone, marching through the pub and out the door.

  How did it go down? My brain churned as I headed back to the office. If I knew The Chief, it was about Redemption. I could see him clear as day, rising in the morning in his destroyed motel room, the taste of cigarettes and beer still lingering on his tongue, heart and head pounding with regret. Seven years sober and then this.

  The Chief is a man of action. I mean, he was. He’d have climbed out of that stinking motel bed, shoved his way through the empty bottles, and taken a shower. Then he’d have wanted to redeem himself. One grand action to make up for his drunken spree. He’d have shaved, thrown on his leather jacket, cleaned his guns, and then headed out to take down Joey Machine. To show the world he wasn’t afraid.

  Or maybe it didn’t go down that way at all. Maybe The Chief was hunkered down on his bed sucking on a bottle of malt liquor when there was a knock on the door. And maybe The Chief had called an escort service, drunken fingers fumbling, drunk and horny and ready for some fresh pussy right off the boat. But that’s not what he got when he opened the door. BLAM BLAM, two shots, head and heart. Game Over.

  I liked the first story better. Stick to that. That’s the Chief I know.

  I mean, that’s The Chief I knew.

  CHAPTER 29

  I spent a long night sitting at my desk playing blackjack with my potted plant. Strangely enough, the plant was winning.

  Grover called me around 11:00 a.m., rousing me from a restless sleep. No pleasantries. He cut right to the chase. “Tommy’s info is bullshit.”

  “I kind of figured it would be.”

  “Joey Machine has a country house up north. You know Orangeville?”

  “Yeah, I know Orangeville.”

  “Joey’s house is about an hour away. I’m getting the team back together. We leave tonight.”

  My brow wrinkled as I turned off the phone. I knew Grover, and Grover didn’t move this fast. Usually he’d stake out the house for a few days, even weeks, watch the people come and go. Get a feel for their schedules. Then he’d go inside. Figure out the security systems and map the house, systematically, room by room. Then he’d come up with the best plan of attack. Then and only then would he assemble the team.

  Grover was moving too fast. It worried me, but I couldn’t blame him. We all loved The Chief.

  The first time The Chief and I went on a run, I was scared shitless. Back then I was so green I didn’t even have enough sense to know I was scared. The pounding heart, the dry mouth — I just chalked it up to excitement.

  “It’s like this,” The Chief said, laying it out for me over beers and wings in a faceless pub in a Scarborough strip mall. He and I were still wearing our security blues from our last legit job. All that was about to change. “There’s this guy I know named Grover.”

  “Grover? Like in the fucking Muppet Show?”

  The Chief scowled. “You’re thinking of Sesame Street. Yeah, like that. But don’t you ever say that to his face. This motherfucker is deadly, boy. He’ll snap out your spine and use it to pick his teeth.” The Chief took another gulp of beer. He was already half in the bag and so was I. “Anyway, this guy Grover puts together jobs. Finds the target, assembles the team, the whole nine yards.”

  “Burglary? That’s not my thing.”

  “Shut up and listen, Mr. Specialist. Remember the diamond heist from a few weeks back?”

  “No.”

  “What are you, illiterate? It made all the papers.”

  My chair scraped back. I stood up scowling, wiping spicy wing sauce off my fingers with a lemon-scented Wet-Nap. “Fuck this. Go find some other sucker.”

  The Chief grinned as he beckoned me to sit back down. “Hey man, I’m sorry. The guys I hang out with, we insult each other all the time. It’s nothing personal. Come on, sit down. Have another chicken wing.”

  I sat back down. I had another chicken wing.

  The Chief nodded and smiled. “All right. You know, I’m glad you stuck up for yourself, kid. Tells me a lot about you. I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”

  “The diamond heist?”

  “Yeah. Three million bucks in uncut gems. Anyway, the team got greedy. ‘Why should we give Grover a share? He wasn’t even there.’” The Chief snorted. “The little pricks. Grover only set the whole thing up.”

  “We’re going up against an entire team?” My heart was pounding. Was this some kind of initiation? Throw the new guy into a pit of wolves and see if he comes out alive. With my youthful bravado, I knew I could do it.

  Luckily for me, The Chief shook his head. “Nope. Just one. Lonnie Riggs. Long-time pro thief. Grover brought him in at the last minute. The original point man got stabbed in a whorehouse.

  “Lonnie is the man holding Grover’s share. The others … well, they’ll be dealt with. But for now Grover wants his diamonds.”

  “Where do we come in?”

  “Right to the point. I like that, kid, I like that a lot. Lonnie’s part of a floating poker game. Tough guys and high stakes. In three days that game is going to be in a warehouse down in the Port Lands. You and I are going to be at that game.”

  “I don’t play poker.”

  The Chief grinned. “I’ll teach you.”

  The Chief was as good as his word. He brought in his buddies and for the next three days we ate, slept, and breathed poker. It was intense. By the end of those three days guys were calling me Ace and slapping me on the back. The air was blue with cigar and cigarette smoke. Every night I’d go back to my hotel room and cough up huge gobs of gunk.

  The day of the big game, The Chief showed up at m
y hotel and handed me a brand-new suit. Nothing too flashy — I wasn’t going to waltz into the warehouse looking like a fucking clown — but it looked expensive. “Here, kid,” The Chief said. “Put this on.”

  The suit fit like a fucking glove. In the mirror I looked lean and dangerous. The Chief nodded approval. “You got a piece?”

  “A piece of what?”

  “Kid, you kill me. A gun, man, a gun.”

  I shook my head no.

  “That’s okay. I know where we can get one.”

  It was my turn to shake my head. “I don’t use ’em.”

  “What? Whaddaya mean you don’t use ’em?”

  “Like I said.” I held out my hands, sinewy and strong, coiled like sleeping cobras. “These are all I need.”

  The Chief laughed admiringly. “Kid, you’re fucking crazy. All right … let’s saddle up.”

  It was dark by the time we got to the warehouse. Moonlight was shining on the oily black water. The Chief adjusted his shoulder holster and zipped up his leather jacket. “All right, kid, let’s go.”

  I figured we’d be searched at the door, but I figured wrong. The guy guarding the door looked like a cross between Mr. T and a great white shark. He just nodded his huge head and let us walk on through. That meant one of three things: 1) the doorman had been paid off and was in on the scheme; 2) no one got searched and everyone at the poker table was packing heat; or 3) the doorman was just really bad at his job. The safe bet was number 2: everyone at the game had a gun, possibly even more than one.

  Our footsteps echoed in the vast cavernous space as we walked toward the back, huge shelves jam-packed with boxes towering over us.

  Something shifted in the darkness and I tensed, fists at the ready. The Chief didn’t blink. He stepped forward and nodded to the darkness. “We’re here for the game.”

  The shadow stepped aside. Another doorman, this one clad in all black. Once again we weren’t searched. The doorman threw the door open wide and we stepped across the threshold.

  Inside the air was already thick with cigar smoke. Five guys were hunched around a green felt table in what looked like a shipping/receiving office: the walls were covered in tacked-up invoices and bikini calendars. A circular fan was humming near a small dirty window.

  A barrel-shaped man with curly hair and mutton-chop sideburns popped up from the table and grinned at The Chief. “’Bout fucking time you got here. I need some more fucking money to win.”

  A sour-faced man in a bright purple suit shook his head. “The night’s young, you fat fuck.”

  The barrel-shaped man scowled. “Nice suit. Who are you, The Joker?”

  The Chief held out his hands. “Gentlemen, gentlemen! Let’s just play some fucking cards, all right?” The Chief clapped me on the shoulder. “This is Jack. He’s a friend of mine. Anyone got a problem with him being here?”

  Grunts and mutters. A crater-faced man in sunglasses exhaled smoke and stared me right in the eyes. The man in the purple suit shook his head. “Money is money.”

  The barrel-shaped man smiled at me and thrust out his hand. “Lonnie Riggs.”

  “Jack Palace.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too.” It was a strange feeling, shaking hands with a man who might be dead before the night was through.

  I didn’t like it.

  The Chief handed me a tumbler full of whisky and straddled a chair. “All right, you fuckers. Let’s play some fucking poker.”

  At first the cards were against me. Tens and deuces, sevens and fours — shit like that. I still came out betting but I was getting beaten like a second-hand gong. Then about halfway through the night my luck turned. I was holding two eights and caught a third on the river. I beat out Purple Suit for over half his stack. His sour face got even more sour. Then I was dealt pocket aces. Fuck it, I went All In. Lonnie Riggs called me. A bunch of junk came up on the turn. When Lonnie saw the aces, he hung his head. “Thought you were bluffing.”

  “I don’t bluff,” I said. I was bluffing.

  The Chief ended up winning it all. He grinned as he raked in everyone’s cash. “Well, gents … it’s been real.” Muttering curses, the others packed up to go.

  The Chief turned to Lonnie. “Lonnie, what the fuck happened? You started out so strong and then you totally blew it.”

  Lonnie shrugged. “Some days you just don’t get the cards.”

  Purple Suit and Crater Face made their goodbyes and left the room. The others shuffled out as well. Lonnie turned to follow, but The Chief caught his arm. “Hold up a sec. You still drive that blue car?”

  “Blue car? The fuck you talking about?”

  “You know. That car you used to have.”

  “What? I don’t —”

  The Chief hit him just above the right eye, a powerful punch that knocked Riggs back. Instantly I was there to catch Lonnie’s arms as he went for his gun. The Chief hit him again, and again. He wasn’t pulling any punches. I heard the bones breaking in Lonnie’s face.

  It was over in seconds. The Chief turned to me, his dark eyes flaring, Lonnie’s blood splattered across his face. “Pull him up.”

  I heaved him up. The barrel-shaped man was heavier than he looked.

  The Chief slapped his face. “Wake the fuck up.”

  Lonnie moaned through his broken mouth.

  “You get Grover his motherfucking diamonds by noon tomorrow. You got that?”

  Lonnie burbled something that might’ve been a yes. The Chief wiped his hands on the front of Lonnie’s shirt.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Uh … what should I —”

  “Just drop him.”

  I did.

  Outside the door the shadowy doorman handed The Chief a towel. The Chief finished wiping off his hands and face. The doorman jerked his head toward the poker room. “We cool?”

  “Yeah, we’re cool.” The Chief handed the doorman the bloody towel, then turned his back and walked away. I followed.

  Back in the car The Chief grinned and pulled out his wad of winnings. “Welcome to The Game, kid. Here.”

  I shook my head. “That’s too much.”

  “What did you do, swear a vow of poverty? Just take the fucking money.”

  I took the fucking money.

  CHAPTER 30

  Grover drove in silence. It was fucking freezing; Grover had the AC blasting on full.

  “Nice car.”

  “It’s all right. I liked the Lexus better.”

  “Joey Machine’s house. You ever been there before?”

  “Sure, I go up there all the time. We play croquet, drink tea, and get fucking crumpet crumbs all over our fucking shirts.”

  “I’m just saying —”

  “Let me stop you right there, Jack. I know what you’re saying. You’re saying it isn’t smart to go charging in blind. You know what? You’re absolutely right. But that’s not what we’re going to do.”

  I kept quiet. The car engine growled beneath us. A big rig passed us, its headlights slicing through the darkness.

  Grover scowled. “Give me some credit, Jack. You know I’m not going to go charging in with all guns blazing.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “Open the glove box.”

  I reached in warily, half expecting a cobra to leap out and bite my face. Or maybe poison darts. Instead there was a folded-up blueprint.

  “Is that —”

  “Yep. Joey Economy’s house.”

  I unfolded the blueprints. Fuckin’ Grover had done it again.

  “How did you get this?”

  Grover stared straight ahead. The lights from the highway danced across his face. “I knew a guy who worked with Joey Economy years ago. He’s the one who told me about this place. He’s dead now. I went to the county clerk’s office and bought the blueprints, just in case.”

  I smoothed out the blueprints across my lap. Without taking his eyes off the windshield Grover stabbed his finger at the top of the
page. “You see this? That’s the alarm system. You remember Paco? He’s going to cut the wire. Then you and I are going in.”

  “What if the man’s not at home?”

  “Then we wait.”

  My mind tumbled as we drove north. Joey Economy, motherfucking Joey Economy. I was the one that brought The Chief with me when I went to see Joey. What if I had gone alone? Maybe I’d be dead, lying in a potato field with my throat slit, open eyes staring up at the sky. Hypothetical bullshit. I would’ve never even met Joey Economy if it wasn’t for Tommy.

  Tommy. He was a vicious son of a bitch, but that’s what saved my life. I closed my eyes and shuddered. I didn’t like thinking about it.

  They came at me with mop handles, jumping me just outside my cell. The fucking guards had vanished like smoke. I broke the first one’s leg and punched the second one right in the throat, but they kept coming. One of them took out my left arm with a massive swing, leaving it hanging, numb and useless. I kicked a guy in the crotch and threw another over the railing, but they kept coming, wooden blows raining down on my back, my shoulders. A mop handle bounced off my head. Everything went white and then red and then black. I fell to my knees coughing up blood. The assassins closed in. An eerie calm spread through my body. This was it. I was going to die.

  “STOP! Step the fuck back. NOW!” It was Tommy. Big Earl Johnston, one of the jail orderlies, told me about it as I lay in the infirmary swaddled in bandages.

  “Man, you should’ve seen that shit. You were all laid out on the ground, face all puffy, and those guys were closing in. One more blow to the back of the head, man … POW! It would’ve been lights fucking out. And then Tommy marches up with his army behind him and it’s all over. One word from him, man, and those fuckers froze like snowmen.” Big Earl chuckled and shook his head. “You know what you are? You’re a lucky motherfucker, that’s what you are.”

  Yeah — lucky. I survived, I recovered, I got sprung back onto the streets right into Tommy’s waiting arms. And now my best friend was dead and someone was going to pay.

  Grover sailed the car up Highway 10, past auto dealerships and gas stations and little stone churches. The countryside started to unfold around us. Grover looked over at me and said, “You hungry? I’m hungry. Let’s get a burger.”