“My God, wait, but Colletto murdered Gunn’s father, Danny the Gun—the murder set off a war between the gangs,” Agent Frain sputters. “You’re sure about D Street? You’re serious?”
“Dead serious. I heard some of it directly, and the rest is straight from a reliable source.” And then I pause. Because “source” is such a tricky word. Because somewhere deep and sober inside me, of course I know that Joan has to be the source of more than a tip. She has to play some crucial part in this: she’s the head of the troupe, has Gunn’s ear, somehow knew about the deal and that D Street’s on the other side of it, and knows far more than she’s giving me in pieces, of that I’m sure. But I can’t think about her being so essential to all of this, that to protect her would be to cut some of the heart out of the score. Even if she’s got a hand to play in this, it’s not her game, I remind myself. Joan’s a pawn, nothing more. There’s no need to give her up right now. Focus on one step at a time.
I turn back to the phone. “I don’t have details on the shine yet, but I will. There’s a demonstration for Colletto and D Street tomorrow. I’ll report back after.”
“And McEvoy? Is he right on your tail? Can you shake him?”
I think about my last joyride with McEvoy, the Jackal lit up with paranoia from the dust. “I managed to sidetrack him. I told him that one of his loyals was staging a secret deal with an island gang at some bender of theirs out on Magic Row,” I explain. “I think he bit. He should be out of the city and out of our way for a few days.”
“I’ll loop the coast guard in”—I hear the scratching of Frain’s pen in the background—“and we’ll take McEvoy down on his way back to the city. Alex, if this comes together, it’s a hell of a win you’ve managed to set up for us.” Agent Frain’s words, his support, they ignite me, center me—remind me of everything I’ve sacrificed, but also everything I’ve managed to achieve. “Right after the demonstration, find a way to reach me,” Frain pushes. “You do what you need to do, get me the details of what’s going down between the gangs, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Understood. I’ll get it done.”
“We’re so close, Alex,” Frain says, his voice near ecstatic, crackling with electricity through the phone wire, “all thanks to you. Now bring us home.”
DEMONSTRATION
JOAN
Sunday morning. The beginning of a new era with Gunn at the helm of the Shaws. An era that promises to be full, red, and rich. An era of shine. My shine.
Instead of telling the troupe last night about today’s practice, I waited until this morning. Less time for questions that way. Besides, I wanted to enjoy our last show before the demonstration together, and not ruin it by bringing it all back to Gunn.
“What do you mean, we’ve got a practice today?” Billy cuts in, after I do a round-robin and knock on everyone’s doors along the hall around ten. “Today’s the day of rest,” he adds with a mumble. “We get one day off. Already sold my soul to the man, Gunn sure as hell doesn’t deserve my Sunday.”
“You sure this isn’t about something else, Joan?” Ral says.
Grace leans against her own door frame. “You don’t have to keep it all on your shoulders, you know,” she presses, looks at me with almost pleading eyes. It’s been a long, long time since I confided in her. “You can trust us. We’re your team.”
“Once upon a time, anyway,” Billy digs, as Tommy and Rose slowly saunter out, half-clothed, into the hall.
“What’s all the commotion about?” Tommy says as he rubs his eyes.
I close mine to collect myself, and remind myself that in part, this demonstration is for them. That if today goes off without a hitch, there’s going to be more money funneled into this place than any of us can imagine. From what I figure, I’m the only troupe member who will get a cut of the deal, but I won’t forget who helped make it possible. I’ll make sure they’re all taken care of somehow, in some way. Not that I can share any of this—at least not now.
“Gunn’s calling a mandatory meeting, a practice,” I say. “Be downstairs before three. And wear something nice, but plain, if you can.”
Everyone mumbles annoyances but turns back to their rooms. As I’m about to do the same, Grace steps out of her doorway and grabs my arm.
“Joan, come on. It’s me you’re talking to here—enough dodging. Is this related to what you’ve been doing, during all your time with Gunn?”
“Grace, I seriously can’t talk about it, all right? You’ll see soon enough.”