“I didn’t hear that remark,” Valentine said. He glanced at Sergeant O’Sullivan, then Bill Higgins, then his son, all of whom stood beside him. “Did you?”

“No,” O’Sullivan said, hiding a grin.

“Me, neither,” Bill said.

Gerry looked at his father. “What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t hear Bronco say he wanted another lawyer. Did you?”

Gerry finally got it. “No.”

Valentine turned to O’Sullivan. “I want to interview Bronco right now, if that’s all right with you.”

“Of course,” O’Sullivan said. “Just give me a minute to get everything ready.”

O’Sullivan left, and Valentine resumed staring at Bronco through the glass. Bronco hadn’t aged well, the excessive drinking and smoking having taken their toll.

“Look at that crummy son-of-a-bitch sitting in there, smirking at us,” Gerry said under his breath.

Valentine glanced at his son. The night of Sal’s murder, he had picked Gerry up from basketball practice, then driven to the Boardwalk. Gerry had stayed in the car, and seen his uncle’s murders run past. Recognizing a family resemblance, Bronco had stopped, and spoken to his son. It had made a lasting impression on Gerry, and not for the better.

“Listen,” Valentine said. “We didn’t come out here to execute this guy. We’re on a job, and we’re going to do everything by the book.”

“But he shot Uncle Sal,” his son whispered.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No.”

Gerry continued to stare, his eyes showing a murderous intensity.

“Comprende?” Valentine said.

His son blew out his cheeks. Whenever Yolanda wanted to get Gerry’s attention, she spoke to him in Spanish. Valentine had found it worked wonders.

“Yeah, Pop,” his son said.

Chapter 21

O’Sullivan went into the interview room first, and cuffed Bronco’ left wrist to the arm of his chair. Not handcuffing him earlier was an old ploy, designed to make Bronco think he was more in control of his fate than he really was.

When Bronco was securely locked down, Valentine and Gerry entered, and stood against the far wall. Garrow looked woefully at the floor, shamed by what he’d done, while Bronco stared right at them, having never felt shame a day in his life.

“You boys are in a lot of trouble,” O’Sullivan said, standing between the two chairs while glaring at his suspects. “If either of you have a lick of common sense, I’d suggest you play ball with these gentlemen. It will make your lives a lot easier.”

“I want another lawyer,” Garrow said loudly.

“What’s that?”

“You heard me.”

Valentine took a step forward. Bronco instinctively brought his legs together like a dog expecting to be kicked.

“Garrow’s your lawyer, so we brought him to you,” Valentine said. “You don’t get any more requests.”

“You’re violating my rights,” Bronco said, looking straight into the video camera that was perched in the corner. “I have the right to counsel. This man next to me is injured. He can’t represent me. I want another lawyer.”

Bronco was as cute as an outhouse rat, delaying things as long as possible. Valentine leaned forward, and put his face a few feet from Bronco’s. Up close, he was really ugly, and Valentine thought of the woman on the tape he’d seen in Bronco’s house. She’d seen something good in that face. She was probably the only one who had.

“You want another lawyer?” Valentine asked.

“That’s right. I know my rights.”

“If you release Mr. Garrow as your attorney, you realize he’ll be free to discuss your dealings with him.”

The blood drained from Bronco’s face. Behind his eyes, Valentine imagined he saw the gears churning, Bronco’s mind weighing every conceivable angle that he had left. That was what made cheaters so dangerous; they always understood the odds.

Bronco nodded toward Gerry.

“That’s your son standing over there, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“I remember that night on the Boardwalk. As I was running away with my crew, we ran past a car, and I saw your boy in the passenger seat. Looked just like you, even back then. I stuck my face to the glass, told him what a pussy he was. Know what he did?”

Valentine shook his head.

“He pissed in his pants, just like you’re about to piss in your pants.”

“Why am I going to do that?”

The sensation that Valentine felt between his legs was almost indescribable. Looking down, he saw that Bronco had taken his free hand, grabbed Valentine’s testicles, and was squeezing them for all he was worth.

Gerry remembered the night his uncle Sal had died like it was yesterday. He’d just turned fourteen and was already shaving. He was a man, or at least he thought he was. His father had picked him up from basketball practice, then gotten an urgent call from his Uncle Sal. His father had driven over to the beach, parked on Atlantic Avenue, and told Gerry to stay put. Then he’d gotten out, and started running to the Boardwalk. Gerry had climbed behind the wheel, and pretended he was driving. His father had already let him drive in a deserted parking lot. It had been scary, but also exhilarating. Each time he’d pumped the gas, the vroomof the car’s engine had made his heart race. He was spinning the wheel when four men ran past. Gerry had guessed the men had something to do with his father being here. They looked like bad people, and he had locked the car doors. One of the men stopped, and came over to the car. He was scary-looking, and had stuck his face to the driver’s window.

“Hey, pussy, what you afraid of?” he taunted him.

“Go away!” Gerry yelled.

“Want me to go get your daddy, momma’s boy?”

“Go away!”

He had started punching the window with his fists, making Gerry cry. Gerry had felt something warm between his legs, and stared at the growing wet spot in his crotch. The man had seen it as well, and laughed. Then, he’d run away.

A week had not gone by when Gerry hadn’t thought about that night. Why hadn’t he blown the horn, and gotten an adult to come to his rescue? Why hadn’t he done something besides piss in his pants? It had been the first true test of his manhood, and he had blown it.

But what Gerry remembered most was the mocking look on the man’s face. Later, when he learned that the man and his friends had murdered his Uncle Sal, that look had become burned in his memory. As he sprang across the room to help his father, it was that look that he was determined to wipe away, once and for all.

Chapter 22

Bronco had been punched in the face plenty of times. By security guards in casinos, cheaters he’d double-crossed, and by irate husbands who’d caught him making sandwiches with their wives. But, he’d never eaten a punch as hard as the one Gerry Valentine delivered to his jaw.

Being cuffed to the chair didn’t help; he was a sitting duck, and even though he tried to get out of the way, he still caught most of it on the face. The blow hurt more than he could have imagined, and in Gerry’s eyes he saw the little boy he’d terrorized long ago in Atlantic City. Bronco had imagined that when he died there would be a lot of people waiting on the other side to pay him back for things he’d done, but he hadn’t imagined he’d encounter one during this lifetime.

He released his grip on Tony Valentine’s nuts, and saw Valentine stagger away. Then, Bronco fell forward, his free, uncuffed hand grabbing Gerry’s leg. Gerry had continued to punch him on the shoulders and arms. Several guards came into the interview room, and Bronco waited for them to pull Gerry off of him. To his surprise, they didn’t, and Gerry kept hitting him. Bronco saw stars in front of his eyes, then for a brief instant, nothing at all.