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“Because you went after Echo. We thought we’d catch you there.”
“To do what?”
“Invite you here.”
“Mr. Folgore didn’t seem interested ininvitingme anywhere.”
Again Luke looked surprised.
“Your other man came after me in Massachusetts,” Evan said. “And after the family of the kid who was killed.”
“What kid? What are you talking about?”
“Johnny Seabrook.”
Luke concentrated, his non-eyebrows bunching, his face shiny and smooth in the firelight. “I remember a report about this. There was a girl, too.”
“When young women are killed, no one seems to remember their names.”
“Her name was Angela Buford,” Luke said.
There was a ruckus behind Evan, and then a quintet of men tumbled into the room breathing hard, faces red. The full roll call: Tenpenny, Rath, Dapper Dan, Santos, and Gordo.
They spotted Evan and charged him, veering off only when Luke held up a palm. Evan remained sitting.
“Goddamn it,” Tenpenny said. “He slipped by us. Are you okay?”
“As you see,” Devine said.
Tenpenny came around to face Evan. He reeked of cigarette smoke, bits of ash dotting his tie. “You piece of shit,” he said. “I’ve coordinated protection for Al Jazeera in Qatar against terrorists, for Tucker Carlson against Antifa wackjobs, for Rachel Maddow against crazed right-wingers. Compared to what I’m used to, to what these men are used to, you’re a speck of spinach caught in my teeth.”
Evan said, “And you haven’t learned that dropping names means you’re still someone who has to drop names.”
“Get the fuck up. And march the fuck out.”
“Derek.” Luke Devine’s voice, no more than a whisper. “Let me offer you something. People are never feared for being threatening or making demands. But by their silence. Their unimpeachable politeness. Because they’re above it.”
Tenpenny lost an inch or two in his posture, that long spine retracting at Devine’s rebuke. The others lurked behind Evan or in his periphery.
“He’s right,” Evan said. “I’ve killed quite a few of them.”
“Get up,” Tenpenny said. “Move.Now.”
Evan said, “I’m not done with your boss.”
Devine stiffened in his chair, his first show of displeasure. “I don’t care if you want to kill me,” he said to Evan, “but at leastbe polite.” He dusted his small hands, though there was nothing to dust. “I’ll see you when you’re ready to discuss our … antagonism with some measure of civility. Security will show you out.”
Barely moving, Evan gauged the men’s placement around him, tapped into a sixth sense to read body heat and disturbed air. “That might not go well for security.”
The widest shadow shifted on the silk rug. A creak of floorboard behind him.
“I’ll make sure they’re respectful,” Luke said.
“Kind of you.”
Gordo’s meaty hand reached across the back of the love seat to clamp down on Evan’s shoulder. Reaching across his chest, Evan grabbed the hand at the ledge of the pinkie and pried it up, locking the elbow and torquing the arm. A grunt that stank of salami wafted over his shoulder as Gordo pressed his substantial weight in for a better grab. Rather than resist, Evan kept the arm and tucked forward onto his feet in a crouch, tugging the big man with him. He felt about 350 pounds roll up across his back and shoulders. There was a hitch at the apex as Gordo’s mass slowed the momentum, and then he rotated across Evan’s shoulder blades and smashed through the glass table, crushing the mannequin.
Behind Evan the love seat toppled, providing a charming little coda to Gordo’s downfall.
