For him, sleep didn’t come so easy. He lay staring at the ceiling, trying to think of a way out. A way to keep the money and lose the bad guys and have the life they wanted, simple and happy and complete. He replayed the conversation with the man in the suit a hundred times. Each time, he almost woke Anna to tell her everything; each time, he decided against it. It wasn’t about deception. Tom just wanted to make everything right first. Between the pregnancy attempts, and the break-in, and now her job, she had enough on her mind. He’d tell her when he’d figured out what to do.

He stared and thought and wished he still smoked. His mind seemed to be working in circles, slow orbits around wet lips and white teeth and a big black gun. Around a threat, and a promise, and a hope. Around a voice-mail message. Around a tomorrow approaching too quickly.

Sometime after three, it had come to him. A possible way out. So simple he’d overlooked it; the truth, of all things. More or less. He’d slipped into a shallow sleep broken by dreams of falling.

It took most of the day to get hold of Detective Halden. They traded voice mails until nearly three o’clock. When they did finally connect, Halden suggested that Tom come by the station. They could have a cup of the world’s worst coffee, he said, and talk in one of the interview rooms.

“I’m in for the coffee,” Tom said, “but could we meet halfway? There’s a Starbucks on the corner of North and Wells. I need to talk as soon as possible.” A partial truth; he did want to talk soon, but he also didn’t want to do it in a police station, on the cop’s home court.

The coffee shop had that standardized coziness, the same anywhere in the country. Tom supposed that was one of the comforts of chains, but it was one of the horrors too. Soon there’d be no point going anywhere. He ordered a coffee, no whipped cream, no flavored syrup, no caramel, just coffee, in a large cup – did anybody actually feel more international by saying “venti” instead of “large”? – and took a seat at a corner table by the window.

Halden arrived a few minutes later. He nodded at Tom, then got a coffee of his own, sweeping back his jacket to reveal his silver star. The girl at the register smiled, and Tom noticed she didn’t charge him.

“Mr. Reed.”

“Detective. Thanks for coming.”

The cop sat down, crossed his legs ankle-on-knee, and sipped at his cup. He didn’t start firing questions, just leaned back and let Tom take his time.

Remember, you’re scared and confused and have nothing to hide. It wasn’t a hard role to play. Two of the three were dead accurate. “I’ll get right to it. Someone is threatening my wife and me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. I was having lunch yesterday, and this guy I’ve never seen before sat down, started talking. He knew my name, and my wife’s. And he asked me if I loved her.”

Halden ran his tongue around the inside of his cheek. “Your names were in the paper.”

“It gets worse.” Tom paused. “He was part of the Shooting Star robbery.”

The cop leaned forward. “How do you know that?”

“He bragged about it.” Tom gave it a minute, let the lie – not lie, exaggeration – sink in. “He said that some men had cost him face. He said that Will Tuttle was one of them. He said that because I had sheltered his enemy, I was now an enemy myself.”

“ ‘Sheltered his enemy’? He say it that way?”

“Yeah. He had a story that led up to it, about Genghis Khan. I think he was trying to scare me.” Tom took a sip of coffee, went back to that moment, the man saying Anna’s name, that she was lovely. “It worked. I’m scared shitless. He had a guy with him that looked like a gangster, big guy with a gun.”

“He drew a gun?”

“No. Just let me see it in his holster.”

The detective nodded slowly, his face giving nothing away. “What then?”

“He said that I had to pick a side. That the men who had done the robbery had taken some of his merchandise. He didn’t say what, I assume drugs. That’s what the papers have been saying. Anyway, he said it was in my house, and that if I didn’t give it to him, he would kill us both.” Another helpful exaggeration, the more-or-less version of the truth.

“This was yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“At lunch, you said.”

“Right.”

“So why did you wait to call me?”

Tom sighed, shrugged. Looked at his fingers tracing shapes on the table. “I thought maybe if I found what he was looking for, he’d just leave us alone. I went home and tore the place apart.”

“And?”

“If it was there in the first place, then whoever broke in earlier this week took it. The other bad guys.” He shook his head, put on his best victim expression. This was the moment he had to sell through. “Detective, I don’t know what to do. We’re normal people. All of a sudden we have drug dealers and murderers coming after us. My wife is terrified. So am I. We need help.”

Yesterday, when Tom had left the first message for Halden, his plan had been to come clean. Give up the money and beg for help. It had seemed the only way. But as he’d lain in bed last night, he’d remembered that the drug dealer didn’t know about the money, or didn’t know that Tom and Anna had it, at least. All he wanted from Tom was his drugs back – and that was an opportunity.

It was risky, bringing in the police. It would certainly count as choosing sides in the drug dealer’s mind. And if Halden decided to take a close look at them, he might come across the bills they’d paid. All of Anna’s predictions about bankruptcy and even jail time might come true.

But the man in the suit had already made it clear he was willing to kill them. Going to the cops couldn’t make it worse. Besides, Tom had just handed the detective a lead on Chicago’s highest-profile robbery in years. It was misdirection, sure, but it was essentially accurate. It would put them on the right trail. And so long as the cops were following the bad guys, they couldn’t be looking too hard at the good ones.

Halden gestured with the coffee cup. “This man, he tell you his name?”

“No.”

“How were you supposed to contact him?”

“He gave me a business card.” Tom took it from his back pocket, set it on the table. He’d stared at the number so long he had it memorized, suspected he’d know it in twenty years. “He said to call. To do it soon, or he would… hurt… Anna.” The worse he made the guy seem, the more time pressure he applied, the better it was for them. “Can you get his name from the phone number?”

Halden shook his head. “I doubt it. It’ll probably be a disposable.” The cop leaned forward to pick up the business card, holding it by the edge. Looked at it for a long moment. Then he said, “You know, when I got your message, I thought maybe you had something else to tell me.”

Tom held himself steady. He’d gone round and round trying to remember exactly what he had said. “What do you mean?”

“You mentioned you’d been thinking about what I said.”

“That these were bad men? That’s why I called.”

“No, what I said as I left.”

“What was that?”

Halden’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t jerk me around.”

“I’m not.”

The detective sipped his coffee, set the cup down. “Mr. Reed, by now you’re starting to understand the type of people involved in this. These aren’t forgiving guys. You don’t want to mess with them. If you’ve got anything to tell me, anything at all, now would be a good time. Maybe your last chance.” Halden stared, letting the moment hang. Tom’s palms were wet. The little kid inside of him, ever afraid of punishment, wanted to give in, to just tell the truth. To fall off the ladder and bask in the relief of falling.

But what he said was “Detective, I didn’t know what you were talking about then, and I don’t now. All I know is that someone is after me and my wife. And we need your help. Please.”

The cop stared at him, gaze level. Didn’t blink, didn’t look away. Finally he said, “What else can you tell me about this guy?”