"I don't like him," Faye said.

"Faye, nobody fucking likes Crow. But he's good at his work and he keeps his word."

"Has he got anybody?" Faye said.

"You mean like a wife or a girlfriend?"

"Yes."

"I don't know," Macklin said.

"I don't know anything about Crow, except what he can do."

"Which is kill people?"

Macklin nodded.

"He can kill you with his hands, with a gun, with a knife, with an axe, with a stick, with a length of rope, a sock full of sand, a brick.

He can kick you to death. He can drop you from fifty feet with a knife, fifty yards with a hand gun, five hundred with a rifle. He can shoot a bow and arrow. He can probably throw a spear."

"Does he like it?" Faye said.

"He doesn't mind it," Macklin said.

"Neither do you."

"That's right, but he's not like me. He's... I've seen guys that like it. I seen guys come off when they kill somebody. He's not like them, either. It's that warrior thing. It's like this is what he does because that's who he is, you know?"

Macklin cut another piece of pie and slid it onto his plate. Faye poured more coffee into his cup.

"You scared of him?" she said.

Macklin looked startled.

"Me? No. You know me, Faye, I don't give enough of a shit to be scared of anything."

Faye smiled and nodded. She had only eaten a bite of her pie.

"What do you give a shit about, Jimmy? I've known you since I was a kid, and I'm not sure if there's anything."

"You, Faye. You gonna eat the rest of that pie?"

Faye shook her head, and Macklin slid her plate over in front of him.

"You do," she said.

"Don't you.", "Care about you?"

"Yes."

"I don't care about much else."

"Money," Faye said.

"Oh yeah," Macklin said.

"Actually that's not even exactly right," Faye said. She sipped a little coffee and held the cup up in front of her face with both hands, looking at Macklin over the rim.

"It's not quite the money."

"Money's good," Macklin said.

"We got any cheese?"

"Refrigerator," Faye said.

"In the door thing."

Macklin got up and got the cheese from the compartment in the door of Faye's refrigerator.

"What you really like is stealing it," Faye said.

"If I had to earn it, we'd be poor," Macklin said.

"I doubt it, but that's not the point. You don't want to earn it.

You love this-planning, putting together a crew, drawing maps, buying guns, stealing money to keep us going. You like this better than anything."

"No," Macklin said.

"I like you better than anything."

"If I asked you to give this up, would you?"

Macklin put down his fork and sat quietly for a moment while he thought about that.

Then he said, "Yes."

Faye sat quietly for longer than he had.

Then she said, "Well, I won't ask you to."

TWENTY-SIX.

"Very cute," Abby said when they were alone.

"How'd you know she'd be a jerk?"

"Given their kids, you had a pretty good shot that one of them was a jerk," Jesse said.

"Even if she weren't, we'd have found occasion to play the tapes," Petrocelli said.

"Once they heard them, they weren't go-:i.

ing to press the suit."

"What do you think about the kids Abby said.

"Snapper maybe has a chance," Jesse said.

"Canton and Brown still thinking about a civil suit?"

"Yes, thanks for the business," Abby said.

"I referred them to a woman I know at Cone, Oakes."

Petrocelli took his feet down and swiveled his chair around slowly with feet off the ground. He came to rest with his chair tilted back as far as it would go and his toes just touching, in nearly perfect balance.

"Think they'll go forward?" Petrocelli said, looking straight down his nose at nothing.

"They were pretty mad," Jesse said, "when I talked with them."

"The tapes may get played after all," Petrocelli said.

"Who'd you send them to?"

"Woman named Rita Fiore," Abby said.

"Used to be a prosecutor," Petrocelli said.

"South Shore?"

"Yes. Norfolk County. You know her?"

"She kicked my ass in a thing about two years ago," Petrocelli said.

"She's tougher than Jesse."

"No one's that tough," Abby said.

"You think they might admit the tapes in a civil case?" Jesse said.

"Rules of evidence are a little different," Petrocelli said.

"And if anyone can get them in, it's Rita."

They were quiet. No one wanted to leave yet. They lingered like players after a game. Jesse got up and walked to the water cooler and got three small plastic cups from the container. He came back and lined them up on his desk. Then he sat back down, took a bottle of Black Bush out of his drawer, and poured a shot into each cup. He handed one to Abby and one to Petrocelli. All three drank sparingly.