THEIR FIRST YEAR IN CHICAGO they’d rented a cookie-cutter apartment in a high-rise on Clark a couple of blocks south of Diversey. It had primer-white walls and carpet that smelled of cigarettes. The view was of the building opposite or, if they stood on the back of the couch and leaned all the way against the window, an inch-wide sliver of lake. But the neighborhood was great, full of bars and noodle shops and bookstores. There was a hot dog place across the street called the Weiner Circle, where the women behind the counter cursed at you. When he remembered that year, Tom usually found himself smiling.

Which made it all the stranger to be back in the neighborhood. He glanced in his rearview for the hundredth time. There was no sign of Jack, no car matching his turns, speeding to keep pace when he ran yellow lights. Best he could tell, they weren’t being followed.

They followed Clark north another half mile, then he swung down a residential block and got lucky with a parking place. The morning was cool and alive with the promise of rain, not a pounding storm, but a steady drencher. He put his arm around Anna’s back as they stepped onto the sidewalk, and she moved a half step closer, her shoulder nestling into the crook of his arm.

The restaurant wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d anticipated a diner, faux wood and the smell of bacon grease. But the space was airy and bright, with colorful canvases over exposed brick. The water glasses had a slice of cucumber in them. As they’d discussed on the phone, Tom requested a four-top in the front, by the windows. A perky waitress passed them menus, set down a carafe of coffee, and asked if they wanted fresh-squeezed juice. Tom shook his head, his eyes on the other diners. At a table by the back wall, Andre sat with his hands on either side of an untouched plate of eggs. He smiled, predatory, wet lips parting to white teeth.

“That guy in the back. That’s the bodyguard. The one with the gun.” Tom kept his gaze on the man, saw no point in pretending. “I don’t know where the dealer is.”

As if in answer to his question, the front door opened in a jingle of bells. The man looked smaller than Tom remembered, slighter. A trim guy wearing an air of authority and a good suit. “Mr. and Mrs. Reed.” He sat opposite them, crossed his legs and smoothed the crease of his pant leg. “Good of you to come.”

Tom nodded.

“So. The situation. What time are you meeting him?”

“Ten.”

“Where?”

“Century Mall.”

The man tapped at his chin with one finger. His eyes were locked on Tom’s, seemed like they’d hardly blinked. “Why?”

“Because the mall is public. He said that way-”

“No, Mr. Reed.” The man leaned forward, spoke the syllable with great clarity and emphasis. “Why?”

“I don’t understand. Why what?”

“Why does Jack Witkowski want to meet? Day before last, you said you’d never heard of him. Fact, as I recall, you swore it.” A tiny tightening of the muscles around his eyes. “Were you lying to me, Mr. Reed?”

Tom felt a shiver of panic, but tried not to show it. “You know what? All this ‘Mr. Reed’ stuff is getting on my nerves. I feel like I’m in a Bond film. My name is Tom. This is Anna. What do we call you?”

The man cocked his head. Stared at Tom for a long moment. Then shrugged. “Don’t suppose it makes much difference. Malachi. Ain’t a name going to be of any use.”

“I’m just tired of thinking of you as ‘the man in the suit.’ ” Tom shook his head. “And no, I wasn’t lying to you.” He lifted his left hand from his lap, set it on the table. The exposed flesh was purple and hot. “Jack came to our house yesterday. He was looking for something, kept asking where it was, where had we put it. When I couldn’t answer…”

“What was he looking for?” Malachi asked it like it was a casual thing, like he couldn’t really care less.

“He never said. He just kept asking where ‘it’ was.”

The perky waitress came back. “You folks ready to order?”

The drug dealer spoke without looking. “You know, honey, I think we’ll just stick with the coffee. My friends here are a little off their stomach.”

A lot of her perkiness vanished, but she nodded, walked away. Malachi said, “How’d you get away? I don’t imagine Jack just let you be.”

“No.” Tom nodded sideways. “Anna set off our burglar alarm. After he ran, we left. Slept in a hotel.”

“I see. So y’all are afraid he’s coming back.”

“Sure.” Tom pushed his silverware around.

“Which does make me wonder.” Malachi glanced over his shoulder at Andre, who’d been staring the whole time like a pit bull straining the end of his chain. “If Jack hadn’t come at you, if y’all didn’t need my help, would you still be saying you’re on my side? Would we still be having this conversation?”

Anna said, “That would have been up to you.”

He turned. “How’s that?”

“If Jack hadn’t come after us, we wouldn’t have anything to offer.” She shrugged. “You told Tom you’d be willing to kill us just for having a tenant. So whether we’d be having this conversation would depend on whether or not you were serious.”

Malachi nodded slowly. “Fair answer. For the record, best you never doubt that. You hadn’t come through…” He glanced over his shoulder again, then raised an eyebrow.

Tom fought to keep from clenching his right hand into a fist.

“So.” Malachi turned back. “Jack wants something from you. Something he thinks you have.”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t have it.”

“Don’t even know what it is.”

“So then, if he was looking for something, and you don’t have it” – the man spoke slowly – “why is he meeting you at ten o’clock?”

Tom fought to keep cool, forced a smile. “Well, I’ll tell you the truth.” He took a sip of coffee, set it down, moved his hand back to his lap, hoping the man hadn’t caught the shake in his fingers. “I figured the only way was to get him somewhere I could tell you about. So…” He paused, shrugged. “I lied to him.”

The man in the suit stared, eyes locked. The moment stretched thin and tense. Tom kept his gaze forward, a shit-eating grin on his lips. Thinking that this was it. Wondering if the guy would try anything here, whether he and Anna were about to get blasted right out of the breakfast nook.

Then Malachi slapped the table, threw back his head, and barked a laugh. Tom let himself breathe again. He felt Anna’s fingers slide into his under the table. He laughed too.

“You lied to him.” Malachi smiled, wiped at his mouth with one hand. “Well, good for you, Tom. You’re turning into a regular gangster.” He turned and inclined his head at Andre, who rose and walked over. For a moment Tom had a flash of panic, but the bodyguard only pulled out the fourth chair and sat down. “Now,” Malachi said, “let’s talk this thing out. He say where he wanted to meet specifically?”

“Just the mall.”

“You got a cell phone?”

“Yes.”

“Jack know the number?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Wherever you are, he’s going to want you to go somewhere else.”

“No way. We’re doing this in the mall because it’s public. We’re not going to agree to-”

“Cool out. You don’t have to leave the mall. Fact, he knows you won’t. He’ll just move you around some. You standing by one store, he’s going to call, tell you to go to another. Simple good sense. What that means, though, I can’t have my people just waiting around the corner. So you gonna have to stall.”

Tom felt a faint sickness. Anna said, “How long?”

Malachi looked at Andre. The big man shrugged, said, “Minute or two.”

“Wait. You want us to stall him for a couple of minutes while ‘your people’ sneak up on him?” Tom snorted. “No offense, but Century Mall is in the heart of Lincoln Park. A bunch of gangsters are going to stand out.”

“You mean a bunch of niggers are going to stand out.” Malachi smiled.