“Why would I do that? Why would I do anything to help you?” Why indeed? His father had given him the answer, now it was

time to squeeze.

“Because I found it, you dork,” said Kyle. “Because I have what Laszlo

was killed for and what you were undoubtedly searching for even when

I came knocking at my father’s office. I have the O’Malley file.” Malcolm turned his head slightly. “You’re bluffing.”

“Maybe, but can the senator take that chance?”

“If you have it, let me look at it. If it’s real, I’ll see if I can do something for you.”

“Oh, I have it, and it’s real, don’t you worry. And my bet is that

you have no idea what’s inside. I’m sure Senator Truscott would be

thrilled to learn that his new aide has been angling to take a peek.

Trying to blackmail yourself into a chief-of-staff position?” “That’s not what I was doing—”

“Save the lies for your wife and the tears for Sharon. Now, take

out a pencil and a piece of paper. After three years of law school, you

turned yourself into a messenger boy, so here’s the message: Tell the

senator that I have the file.”

“He’ll want proof,” said Malcolm as he plucked a pen off his desk. “Tell him I know what really happened to Colleen. That will spark

his interest. We’ll meet at four o’clock, which will give him plenty of

time to get here from Washington, have our discussion, and still be

able to stick his tongue in the vice president’s ear.”

“Where do you propose to meet?”

Kyle thought for a moment. “There’s a bar called Bubba’s in Queens

Village. Your boy’s a clever fellow, he’ll find it. You tell him to be

there at four and to be there alone. He shows up with a guard, with

his mother, or even someone as weak-kneed as you, and it’s over.” “And you’ll have the file with you?”

“Fuck no. I’m not an idiot. The thing will be in safe hands, ready

to go to the press if anything happens to me. But nothing will happen, right? Just a pleasant meeting with a constituent. I have some

ideas on the immigration issue.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Okay, I got it. Do you have a number where he can reach you if

the plans change?”

“The plans won’t change,” said Kyle, standing. “We’ll meet, we’ll

talk, we’ll do a fox-trot and figure something out. Everyone will go

home happy.”

Malcolm stared at Kyle for a moment. “You’re completely different than you were last week in the office. What the hell’s gotten into

you?”

“It’s the suit,” said Kyle.

CHAPTER 39

HIS NAME WAS Lamar, and Lamar was scared.

It was clear in the way Lamar’s hands shook as he brought the can of soda to his lips, in the way the soda slopped out of his mouth as he tried to drink, the way his jaw trembled as he repeated his improbable story. Ramirez thought the fear was a pretty good indication of guilt. It wouldn’t take much, she knew, to push him into abandoning his cock-and-bull story and signing a confession that would close the case. But Henderson had spent so much time in these rooms with kids who showed nothing but contempt for cops, for their crimes, for the prisons they were headed to, nothing but contempt for themselves, that in Lamar’s fear he saw possibilities for some sort of redemption. Ramirez would consider Henderson’s thoughts about redemption a sign of muddleheaded weakness arising from his severe case of old age. Henderson considered it his only reason for still being a cop.

“Where do you keep your drugs, Lamar?” said Henderson, who was taking the lead in the questioning and kept his voice calm and soft. Ramirez sat with her chair leaning against the wall and glowered.

“I told you, man, I don’t do drugs.”

“Remember that cup you peed in when they picked you up?” said

Ramirez with a sneer. “Well, that says you’re a liar.”

“What they find?” said Lamar.

“Some sticky icky,” said Ramirez.

“Hell, that ain’t drugs. I just took a hit off a buddy’s blunt last

night. But I ain’t got nothing at the house, if that’s what you’re asking. My moms would kill me she finds that crap. Truth is, sad as it is to admit, I don’t got the money for it.”

“The pawnshop said you got seventy-five for the watch,” said Henderson. “What did you spend it on?”

“Food.”

“Where?”

“Most I gave to my moms so she can feed my brother. But I kept enough for a rack from Ron’s and some mac and cheese.”

“You get it extra hot?”

“What are you, crazy? Ron’s is hot enough, just regular. The extra will burn a hole through the back of your throat.”

“You got that right,” said Henderson. “So let’s go over it again.”

“I told you four times already.”

“Then let’s do five.”

“I was out walking that night.”

“What night?”

“I don’t know when, a week or so ago. I was out walking.”

“Looking for what?”

“Anything. Is that a crime? I was out, is all. And I saw this pack come toward me on the street that I didn’t want anything to do with, account of I recognized one of them idiots, and he and me we don’t get along.”

“What’s his name?”

“Danny something, I don’t know. He’s big and he’s ugly, you want a description. So when I passed one of them deserted lots, I ducked into it so as to avoid his ass.”

“Where exactly?”

“I don’t remember. It was, like, west of Sixteenth on Montrose or something. I didn’t care where it was, I just wanted to get away. He’s got this nose, man, like a baked potato that exploded in the oven. You know what I mean? And so as he passed by on the street with his boys, I kind of slunk my way into one of them corners that was darker than the rest, and that’s where I found it.”

“Found what exactly?”

“I told you. It was a box, a white box with handles cut into the sides, and the stuff was in there.”