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Bricker nods slowly. “Time we paid a visit, maybe.” He checks his watch. “No time like the present. Visiting hours are done at the hospital, so we should try her apartment first.”
* * *
The early evening air is still chilly as Bricker and I get out of his car and approach Jazz’s apartment building. It’s a sad old structure with peeling paint and graffiti covering the side walls. Dim light from a nearby streetlamp makes everything feel even more depressing than it is.
“This is getting messy,” Bricker mutters, shoulders hunched against the wind. “When’s it going to end?”
“When we find the mole.” I glance at Bricker sidelong, wondering again what Van said to convince him he wasn’t involved. “You’re sure about Van, right? Absolutely sure?”
Bricker exhales sharply through his nose. “Van’s clean. I know him. He wouldn’t betray us.”
“He’d putmedown no questions asked if he thought he could get away with it,” I point out.
Bricker gives a bleak smile. “Maybe. But he wouldn’t betrayme. Or at least, up until…” He sighs. “Look, I’ll tell you about Van when we get home, I promise. Let’s just—” He makes a vague gesture toward the apartment block.
We climb the sagging stairs to Jazz’s door, and then Bricker raps his knuckles against the thin wood.
“Who is it?” Jazz’s guarded voice comes through the door.
“It’s Bricker. I got Max here with me,” he replies. “Come on, Jazz, open up.”
There’s a moment of silence before the door cracks open, revealing Jazz’s hard eyes and stony face. She hesitates, then reluctantly steps aside to let us in. “Make it quick.”
Jazz’s apartment is small and cluttered, a far cry from the organized exterior she presents to the crew. Dishes are piled high in the sink, and clothes are strewn about on furniture. A few framed photos of happier times with the crew are propped up on the few pieces of furniture, their smiles a stark contrast to Jazz’s unfriendly stare.
“Well? What do you want? I’m not in the mood for company.” She crosses her arms defensively.
“We’re wondering who might have spilled details on the heist,” Bricker says bluntly, wasting no time on pleasantries.
“The fuck did you just say to me?” Her face flushes with indignation, and she takes a menacing step toward him. “You come intomyhome and accuse me of betraying my Family?”
“I’m not accusing you,” Bricker points out. “I’m asking everyone in the crew, Jazz, not just you, if they know anything. Only you weren’t at the funeral today for me to ask.”
Jazz stares at us. “Fine. You want to know the truth? I had nothing to do with it. But if you can’t trust me, then put a gun to my head, pull the trigger, and get it over with.”
“Jazz,” I say, “we just want to find out who did this.”
“And good luck with that,” she spits, her gaze never wavering. “But don’t expect me to sit here and be accused of something I wouldneverdo.”
“Alright,” Bricker says, his voice softening. “I know you’re loyal and I’m sorry I had to ask. Do you have suspicions about anyone else?”
Jazz narrows her eyes. “If I knew anything, that traitor would be dead already.”
I believe her, both about her innocence and about taking out the mole herself if she knew.
“Okay. Well then, tell me this: why are you spending so much time at the hospital with Nico and Giddy?”
“Because they’refamily!” Jazz snaps, losing her temper. “And they need someone there with them, especially Nico!” She gives Bricker a glare, and he winces at the strength of it. “Is it so wrong for me to care about them?”
I can tell Bricker’s about to assure her it’s not, but I make a motion behind her, a slice of my hand through the air, and he shuts his mouth. A moment later, my silent advice bears fruit.
“And because it’smyfault Rook died, and my fault Nico and Giddy got shot as well.” She looks away from us, her voice dropping. “I should’ve been there for them,” she murmurs. “Ishould’ve been the one out in front, not Rook, not Giddy, not Nico. It was my job as a senior member of the crew, but they pushed ahead, and I didn’t stop them. And now one is dead and two are in critical condition because of it.”
Bricker shakes his head in amazement. “No way, Jazz. You did your job. This whole thing wasmymistake. Mine alone. And you have nothing to feel guilty about. Hell, Nico isalivebecause of you—because you were there with him right after.” He takes a cautious step forward, but Jazz doesn’t pull back, even when he puts his arms around her and hugs her.
She even awkwardly returns the hug after a second, closing her eyes tight over Bricker’s shoulder.
“Thank you for saving Nico, and for being there for him in the hospital, and for Giddy, too,” Bricker tells her, and then lets her go. “But you gotta stop laying this guilt trip on yourself. Promise me.”
