Tony made a gun with his finger. He put it to his head, pulled the trigger, and collapsed in the seat.

He sat up again. “Either way, I’m not sweating.”

“You sound overconfident.”

“Nah. There’s no body, no car. I got all kinds of reports to cover why I was in the guy’s apartment in the first place. Nobody’s going to the D.A. on me, man. Shit moves on, time goes by. It’s one for the cold case unit.”

“Uh-huh.” Ray turned left and headed south on 72nd. “Only one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t have a brother.”

“Oh, yeah.” Tony nodded. He let a beat go by, then said, “Shithead has one, though.”

“Did have one,” Ray said.

“You’re forgetting somebody. Never make detective that way.”

Tony made a tsk sound. Yesterday, he’d done some extra digging on his own.

“The older brother? Vince? Lives sixty, seventy miles over the state line.”

“Let me guess. Owns a junkyard.”

“He does now,” Tony said. “Know what he did before that?”

“Not a clue.”

“State time.” Tony chuckled. “I pulled him up. Whole family of cops, right? And this guy’s got a sheet going back thirty years. Regular black sheep and shit.”

Ray said nothing.

“In and out of county, this and that. Two in the pen for robbery.” Tony chuckled. “Then five of ten for armed robbery, reduced to felony larceny.”

Blinkers again. Ray merged right.

“Day’s drive away, my ass,” Tony said. “Big brother handled this. And he’s been holding the loot this whole time. Bet you my share on it. Just goes to show you…”

Without a word, Ray slowed down and pulled off the street, into the empty parking lot of an abandoned video store. He pushed toward the center of the white-bound lot, tires kicking up unplowed snow. He braked to a stop and sat there.

“The hell you doing?” Tony said.

“Shut up,” Ray said. “Okay?”

Tony leaned back.

Finally. Here was the big heart-to-heart Ray had been sitting on for the past couple hours. It had taken him long enough.

Tony looked out the passenger-side window. This video store had been Cinemarz until a few months ago. A little private operation, no match for the big chains. Now the front windows had all been soaped over; clumps of weeds poked through the shallow snow around the base of the store. The place made him think of Uncle Eddie, for some reason.

“Tell me something,” Ray said.

Tony said, “Sure.”

“You and me. When did we get into the murder business?”

“The hell you talking about?”

“That kid wasn’t even twenty, man. You know?”

Honestly, it hadn’t been until that moment that Tony realized what had crawled up Salcedo’s ass. It came as a genuine shock.

“You mean FUBU?” He’d figured Ray had been getting worked up about their exposure. But this? “You’re serious?”

“That shit wasn’t necessary,” Ray said.

“Hey,” Tony said. “The kid wanted to be a player, he got to be a player. What, you’d rather have ’em hunting up suspects?”

“Straight-up not necessary.”

“Oh, I get it,” Tony said. “It’s okay if the bangers light each other up over this shit, as long as me and you don’t pull any triggers. Is that it?”

“This isn’t even about that.”

“No?”

“No. And you know it.”

“Then what? Seriously.”

“Listen up,” Ray said. “We’re brothers, okay, that’s solid. You know I have your back.”

“Never once crossed my mind to ask.”

“But I know you,” Ray said. He reached and pressed a finger to Tony’s forehead. “I know exactly what you’re sitting there thinking in that stitched-up head.”

Tony could feel Salcedo’s finger on his forehead even after Ray took his hand away. He didn’t like it.

He said, “What am I thinking?”

“You’re thinking there’s no fucking way,” Ray said. “No fucking way you’re gonna let this guy Worth get over on you.”

“Us,” Tony corrected. “Right, partner? I’m thinking there’s no fucking way we’re going to let this guy get over on us.”

“Us didn’t put a bee in that kid for no reason. Us doesn’t have an uncle with the back of his head blown out.”

Tony arranged himself in the seat. “Spit it out, man. I’m listening. Say what you need to say.”

“This was a simple shakedown,” Ray said. “Nice payday, no complications. Right?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Tony thought about it. “Shakedown makes it sound like we’re the bad guys.”

“Call it what you want, it’s not simple anymore,” Ray said. “Everything’s red hot now. It’s going to be hot for a while.”

“And that’s my fault?”

“Not saying that,” Ray said. “I’m saying we need to start taking the long view.”

He’d lost his nerve. All the years they’d rolled, Tony never thought he’d see it happen. But here it was: Ray Salcedo, folding. This, on top of everything else.

“Aside from all that, man? You’ve got family down,” his partner said. Just making it worse now. “Maybe that’s enough for one day.”

Tony let what seemed like an appropriate amount of silence go by.

Then he said, “You’re worried I’m going to make this personal.”

“Man, you were making this shit personal already.” Ray pointed. “Ever since you got your bell rung the other night. But now it’s blood personal.” He softened his voice. “That’s why it’s time to step back.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

Ray looked him in the eyes. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you get it. That we’re on the same page with this thing.”

“I get it,” Tony said. “We’re on the same page with this thing.”

Ray watched him a long time.

“Okay,” he finally said.

Tony nodded. “Okay.”

They rolled on.

29

The day warmed slowly as the sun rose, an amber coin in a turquoise sky.

Vince got back from the landfill around half past noon. In the time he’d been gone, the road back up into the bluffs had turned to sloppy, slushy mush. He followed a set of fresh tire tracks all the way back to Junk Monkey, feeling a little more hopeful with every mile.

Turning into the driveway, his spirits sank.

He’d been hoping those tracks meant Rita had come home. Instead, he met the county sheriff coming down the hill.

The sheriff raised a hand, and they pulled alongside each other. Vince ran his window down. The sheriff lowered his own.

“Morning,” Vince said.

Sheriff Myron Poole lifted his chin. “Morning there, Vince. Guess my timing wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

“What’s the news?”

“Got a minute?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll turn around,” Poole said.

All the way up to the house, Vince tracked the sheriff’s Bronco in the rearview. He could hear his blood beating in his ears. It was the first time in years he’d felt it: that clench that came with the law on your tail. It came back too easy.

Pull your head out of your ass.

This wasn’t anything to worry about. They needed him to get out on the rig somewhere, that was all. Vince parked out front and got out of the truck, waited for the sheriff to pull in behind.

Poole climbed out of the Bronco and slammed the door. He strolled over, the cuffs of his pant legs tucked into the tops of rubber four-buckle overshoes.

“Warming up,” Vince said.

“Sure is.” Poole nodded toward the column of brown exhaust rising up from the incinerator shed in the distance, where Vince had been burning garbage, compost, and roadkill for most of the past two days. “Trash day, huh?”

“Yep. Just got back from the dump.”

“Yeah, that’s what Rita said. I caught her leaving. Helped her load up her suitcases.”

Vince felt a tingle in his gut. She couldn’t have timed it better if she’d been watching from a hill with binoculars.

Sunday night, after he’d showed her the money, sat down to tell her everything he’d done and everything he knew, she was dressed and gone before he’d even finished talking.