“You really think there could be some . . . shake-up, some kind of shift in the natural Shaw order?” I almost can’t believe it. Boss McEvoy—a man cut from nightmares, a man who bathes in blood—someone would dare to challenge him?
“I’ve been coming around to the same thing,” Frain breathes out. “I’ve got a man on the outskirts of the Shaws’ racketeering operation. Older brute of a fellow, a Unit informant, never really had the desire to work his way to the top. And he says that the misunderstanding with Baltimore you heard about? Apparently the mistake was intentional, at least that’s what he swears to us. That Kerrigan promised twenty men, but after meeting with some of the underbosses at the Red Den, sent only half to the sting.”
So one of McEvoy’s underbosses purposely sabotaged a deal with Baltimore? “But . . . why?”
“That’s what I need you to find out.” Frain turns around, stares out his window, thinking to himself. “How much time do you spend around this Red Den?”
Images of Joan flood my mind, my flower manipulation in her hair in the hallway, in her performance circle tossing feathers around her, close enough to kiss under my magic gazebo—“Not as much as I’d like, sir.”
“Place has been transformed, from what I hear. Not just the magic show that happens every night, but apparently it’s become a Shaw meeting place. That there’s a room where a lot of business gets done during the performance, behind closed doors.”
I shrug. “I’m almost always on the road, Agent Frain. The game is playing McEvoy.”
“I know,” Frain says. “But the game might have changed.” He looks back at me. “Did McEvoy tell you what happened at the Den a couple nights ago, Alex?”
A strange numbness begins settling over me at his cryptic, leading question. “He didn’t, sir.”
“One of the sorcerers who puts on the immersive magic show died pulling a trick.” My heart seizes, whispers, Please, not Joan— “Apparently he got split right open by a lightning bolt.” He, thank God. “Shook the crowd up good. Place has shut down for a few nights, I guess until they figure out where to go from here.”
“What was the sorcerer’s name?”
“Stockard Harding. Some kid they brought in from Appalachian country back in October, when the club was revamped.” Frain pauses. “Alex, this could be a real opening, a chance to shift the focus of our little operation.”
My eyes float up to meet his. “What do you mean, ‘shift the focus’?”
“You said it yourself. There’s something going on within the Shaws, some kind of shake-up. If we’re right—if it somehow affects the Shaws’ racketeering operation, and their gambling empire—it has to be driven by something big, the kind of score we’ve been waiting for. One that blows the underworld open, allows us to step in and take the lot of these thugs down. I need you where you can keep your eyes and ears on multiple players, not bound to the side of the man who’s purposely being kept in the dark.”
I finally piece together what he’s suggesting, and I stutter a laugh. “Are you . . . are you implying that I take Stockard’s place somehow? Because that’s a joke. McEvoy owns me. I’m practically by his side from morning until night—”
“And I think it’s time to fix that.”
A small window of hope cracks open inside me at those words, despite how insane Frain’s suggestion is. It’d be a way out from McEvoy’s dark shadow. A way to escape the violence. A chance to spend more time with Joan. And she’d be an easy source, no question. Someone I don’t have to fake caring about, someone who’s clearly got a pulse on the place, works closely with the managing underboss, Harrison Gunn, and could keep me posted on who’s meeting who behind the concealed doors of that Den.
Of course, the only problem is, McEvoy would likely kill me before I ever stepped foot in the door.
“And how would you suggest I ‘fix that,’ hmm?” I give a sharp exhale and lean back in my seat. “Walk up to McEvoy, tell him thanks for the opportunity, but I want to perform at his magic haven—a place he considers a circus sideshow, by the way—instead?”
“I know you’re tired, Alex”—Frain keeps his tone infuriatingly even, careful—“frustrated, I get that. But you need to stop for a second and think about everything you’ve already managed to achieve—”