“What’s that, sir?”

He clapped his hands together hard, then clenched them into fists and raised them over his head. “This! Leonard, we have a chance to do something monumental. Monu-fucking-mental!”

“Yes, sir. In the meantime?” Leonard leaned into the butcher-block counter and looked as if a semi had settled across his shoulder blades.

Cody waved his hand. “In the meantime, I don’t fucking care. He can watch pornos with us in the living room. I’ll cook eggs and spoon-feed him. Fatten the calf and all that.”

Leonard looked like he didn’t have a clue what Cody was babbling about, but he nodded and said, “Yes, sir. Good idea.”

Cody dropped to his knees in front of me. “You like eggs, Pat?”

I met his smiling eyes. “Did you rape her?”

He cocked his head to the left, stared off into space for a bit. “Who?”

“You know who, Cody.”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re the most logical suspect or I wouldn’t be here.”

“She wrote me letters,” he said.

“What?”

He nodded. “You didn’t know that part. She’d write me letters asking me why I wasn’t getting her signals. Wasn’t I man enough?”

“Bullshit.”

He giggled and slapped his thigh. “No, no. That’s the great part.”

“Letters,” I said. “Why would Karen Nichols write letters to you, Cody?”

“Because she wanted it, Pat. She was dying for it. She was as cock hungry as they all are.”

I shook my head.

“Don’t believe me? Ha! Hang on, I’ll get them.”

He stood up and handed the gun to Leonard.

Leonard said, “What am I supposed to-?”

“Shoot him if he moves.”

“He’s tied up.”

“I pay your freight, Leonard. Don’t fucking back-talk me.”

Cody walked out of the kitchen and then his footsteps charged up the stairs.

Leonard placed the gun on the counter and sighed.

“Leonard,” I said.

“Don’t talk to me, bitch.”

“He’s warming to this idea. He’s not going to-”

“I said-”

“-chill out by noon, if that’s what you’re hoping.”

“-shut your fucking hole.”

“Killing someone, he’s thinking, how ballsy. A new experience.”

“Shut up.” Leonard placed the heels of his hands over his eyes.

“And when he does, Leonard, I mean come on, you think he’s smart enough not to get caught?”

“Lotta people don’t.”

“Sure,” I said, “but this is strictly A ball around here. He’ll fuck up. Take a kill trophy home with him, tell a friend or a stranger in a bar. And then what, Leonard? You think he’s going to stand tall when the DA shows up?”

“I’m telling you to shut the-”

“He’ll roll like a bowling ball on a ski slope, Leonard. Give you up like he’s buttering toast.”

Leonard picked up the gun, pointed it at me. “Shut up or I’ll do you myself. Right now.”

“Okay,” I said. “Just one thing, Leonard. Just-”

“Stop saying my name!” He lowered the gun, put his hands to his eyes again.

“-one more thing, and I’m not shitting around here. I got some ugly, ugly friends. I mean, pray the cops get to you first.”

He raised his head, pulled his hands from his eyes. “You think I’m scared of your friends?”

“I think you’re starting to be. And that’s smart, Leonard. You ever done time?”

He shook his head.

“Bullshit. My guess is you’ve even run with a crew or two. Strictly North Shore, I’m guessing.”

He said, “Fuck off. You think your shit talk can scare me? I got a black belt, motherfucker. I’m a seventh degree-”

“You could be the bastard love child of Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan, Leonard, and Bubba Rogowski and his crew will eat you up like rats on a bag of ground beef.”

Leonard picked up the gun again when he heard Bubba’s name. He didn’t point it. He just gripped it.

Upstairs, Cody’s footsteps hammered the floor as he ran back and forth in the bedroom.

Leonard blew air out his rubbery lips. “Bubba Rogowski,” he whispered, then cleared his throat. “Nope. Never heard of him.”

“Sure, Leonard,” I said. “Sure.”

Leonard looked at the gun in his hand. Then looked into my face.

“Really, I-”

“’Member the Billyclub Morton hit, Leonard? Come on. He was a North Shore guy.”

Leonard nodded, and his left cheekbone developed a small tic.

I said, “You heard who did Billyclub, didn’t you? I mean, it’s one of his more notorious hits. I hear Billyclub’s skull looked like a tomato blown apart by dynamite. Heard they had to ID through dentals. Heard-”

Leonard said, “Okay, okay. Okay? Fuck.”

A drawer was wrenched off its runners upstairs, and Cody screamed, “ Eureka!”

I resisted the urge to toss a panicky look over my shoulder or up at the ceiling. I kept my voice calm and soft.

I said, “Leave, Leonard. Take the gun with you and walk away. Do it now and do it fast.”

“I-”

“Leonard,” I hissed. “Either the cops or Bubba Rogowski. Someone’s going to nail you on this. You know it. Cody’s strictly Toys ‘R’ Us in this department. No more fucking around, you piece of shit. You’re either in this to the wall or you’re walking now.”

Leonard said, “I don’t want to kill you, man. I just-”

“Then, go,” I said softly. “No more time. Now or never.”

Leonard stood. He placed a sweaty palm on the butcher block and took several deep breaths.

I straightened my back against the wall and pushed up, felt my head swim and a momentary numbness find my nose and mouth as I reached my full height.

“Take the gun,” I said. “Go.”

Leonard looked at me, his face a mask of stupidity and fear and confusion.

I nodded.

He ran a hand over his mouth.

I held his eyes.

And then Leonard nodded.

I resisted the urge to chuck a sigh of relief the size of a mountain out of my lungs.

He walked past me and let himself out the glass door that led to the back deck. He didn’t look back. Once he reached the deck, he picked up speed, lowered his head, and cut through the yard, let himself out the side gate.

One down, I thought, shaking my head and puffing air into my cheeks to try and clear my vision.

I heard Cody’s footsteps approach the staircase.

One to go.

I did several quick squats to return blood to my legs and sucked up as much of the oxygen in the room as I could.

Cody’s feet hit the top of the staircase and he started to descend.

I inched my way along the wall toward the corner of the kitchen.

When Cody came down the bottom of the stairs, he shouted, “ Eureka!” again. He bounded around the corner and tripped over my foot, and a sheaf of brightly colored paper flew from his hands as he toppled into a bar stool and slammed his right hip and shoulder hard off the floor.

I doubt I’ve ever kicked anything as hard as I kicked Cody. I kicked his ribs and his groin, his stomach, his spine, and his head. I stomped on the backs of his knees, his shoulders, and both ankles. One of the ankles made a hard cracking sound as it snapped, and Cody ground his face into the floor and screamed.

“Where do you keep your knives?” I said.

“My ankle! My fucking ankle, you-”

I drove my heel down along the side of his head, and he screamed again.

“Where, Cody? Or I do the ankle again.” I thought of that gun in my face, that look in his eyes when he decided to take my life, and I gave him another kick to the ribs.

“Top drawer. The butcher block.”

I went around the butcher block and turned my back to the drawer as I pulled it open. I cut my fingers on the first knife blade, worked my way up to the handle, and pulled it out.

Cody rose to his knees.

I came back around the butcher block and stood over him as I worked the knife up between my wrists.

“Stay down, Cody.”

Cody turned on his side and pulled his knee up to his chest. He reached down and touched his ankle, hissed through his teeth, and rolled over on his back.