“Oh.” He rubbed the stubble under his chin. “Right.”

I stared at the bar, counted off another full minute. Still no one went in or out.

My cell phone rang and both Phil and I jerked so hard our heads hit the roof.

“Jesus,” Phil said. “Jesus Christ.”

I flipped it open. “Hello.”

“Patrick, it’s Devin. Where are you?”

“In my car. What’s up?”

“I just talked to Erdham with the FBI. He pulled a partial print from under the floorboard in your house where one of the bugs was placed.”

“And?” The oxygen circulating through my body slowed to a crawl.

“It’s Glynn, Patrick. Gerry Glynn.”

I looked through my steamed windows and could just make out the shape of the bar, and I felt unequivocal terror like I’d never felt in my life.

“Patrick? You there?”

“Yeah. Look, Devin, I’m outside Gerry’s place now.”

“You’re what?”

“You heard me. I came to the same conclusion an hour ago.”

“Jesus, Patrick. Get out of there. Now. Don’t fuck around. Go. Go.”

I wanted to. Christ, I wanted to.

But if he was in there now, packing a bag with ice picks and straight razors, preparing to head out to pick up another victim…

“I can’t, Dev. If he’s here and he moves, I’m following him wherever he goes.”

“No, no, no. No, Patrick. You hear me? Get the fuck out of there.”

“Can’t do it, Dev.”

“Fuck!” I heard him bang something hard. “All right. I’m on my way over there now with an army. You got it? You sit tight, and we’ll be there in fifteen minutes. He moves, you call this number.”

He gave it to me and I scribbled it on the pad velcroed to my dash.

“Hurry,” I said.

“I’m hurrying.” He hung up.

I looked at Phil. “It’s confirmed. Gerry’s our guy.”

Phil looked at the phone in my hand and his face was a mixture of nausea and desperation.

“Help’s on the way?” he said.

“Help’s on the way.”

The windows had fogged over completely and I wiped at mine again, saw something dark and heavy move out of the corner of my eye, near the back door.

Then the door opened and Gerry Glynn hopped inside and put his wet arms around me.


“How you guys doing?” Gerry said.

Phil’s hand had slipped into his jacket, and I looked at him so he knew I didn’t want him pulling a gun in the car.

“Good, Gerry,” I said.

I met his eyes in the mirror and they were kind and slightly amused.

His thick hands patted my sternum. “I surprise you?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said.

He chuckled. “Sorry. Just I saw you guys sitting in here and I thought to myself, ‘Now why are Patrick and Phil sitting in a car on Dot Ave. at twelve-thirty in the morning during a rainstorm?’”

“Just having a chat, Ger,” Phil said and his attempt at sounding casual came out sounding forced.

“Oh,” Gerry said. “Well. Hell of a night for it.”

I looked at the wet red hairs spreading limply down his forearms.

“You looking to get lucky with me?” I said.

He narrowed his eyes at me in the mirror, then looked down at his arms.

“Oh, Jeez.” He removed his arms. “Whoops. Forgot how wet I was.”

“You’re not working the bar tonight?” Phil said.

“Huh? No. No.” He propped his forearms on the back of our seat between the two headrests, leaned his head in. “Bar’s closed at the moment. I figured, weather like this, you know, who’s going to come out?”

“Too bad,” Phil said and coughed out a ragged half chuckle. “Could have used a drink tonight.”

I looked at the driver’s wheel to conceal my fury. Phil, I thought, how could you have just said that?

“Bar’s always open to friends,” Gerry said happily and slapped our shoulders. “Yes, sir. No problem there.”

I said, “I don’t know, Ger. It’s getting a little late for me and—”

“On the house,” Gerry said. “On me, my friends. ‘A little late,’” he said, and nudged Phil. “What’s with this guy?”


“Come on. Come on. One drink.”

He hopped out of the car and opened my door before I thought to reach for it.

Phil was giving me a What-do-we-do? look and the rain was spitting through the open door into my face and neck.

Gerry leaned into the car. “Come on, guys. Trying to drown me out here?”

Gerry kept his hands in the pouch of his hooded warm-up sweater as we jogged to the bar door, and when he removed the right to open the door with his key, the left remained in the pouch. In the dark, with the wind and rain in my face, I couldn’t tell if he had a weapon in there or not, so I wasn’t about to pull my own and attempt a citizen’s arrest on the street with a jittery partner for backup.

Gerry opened the door and swept his hand out ahead of him so we’d pass first.

A muted halo of yellow illuminated the bar itself, but the rest of the place was dark. The pool room, just beyond the bar, was pitch black.

“Where’s my favorite dog?” I said.

“Patton? Up in the apartment, dreaming doggie dreams.” He snapped the bolt-lock, and Phil and I looked back at him.

He smiled. “Can’t have any regulars stumbling in, getting pissed at me for closing up earlier.”

“Can’t have that,” Phil said and laughed like an idiot.

Gerry gave him a quizzical look, then glanced at me.

I shrugged. “Neither of us has slept in a good while, Gerry.”

His face immediately jellied into an expression of the deepest sympathy.

“I almost forgot. Jesus. Angie was hurt last night, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Phil said and now his voice was too hard.

Gerry went behind the bar. “Oh, guys, I’m sorry. She’s okay, though?”

“She’s okay,” I said.

“Sit, sit,” Gerry said and rummaged in the cooler. His back to us, he said, “Angie, she’s, well, special. You know?”

He turned back to us as we sat and placed two bottles of Bud in front of us. I removed my jacket, tried to appear normal, shook my hands free of rain.

“Yes,” I said. “She is.”

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