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Lakers fan. Then the A s start winnin , and...
 I told you, man, I lived four years in Oakland.
 Big fuckin deal! I lived in Houston, and I ain t no Astros fan.
 What d be the point? They re even more pathetic than the Sox.
 Goddamn it! I don t hafta take this crap! Carnes pounded a fist against the dash.  I told
McDonough I couldn t work with you, man! You ain t professional! Fuckin guy s gotta be crazy thinkin
I can spend a coupla hours in a fuckin car with you!
This broke Penner s mood.  Yeah, maybe, he said, remembering McDonough in the lamplit gloom
of his study, his white hair agleam, patrician features seamed with anguish, noble head bowed under the
weight of a daughter s dishonor. His pain, or rather Penner s sympathy with it, had glossed over the
illogic of McDonough s proposal that he and Carnes become partners in a proxy vengeance. And yet
afterward he d had the thought that the scene seemed posed. Too perfect a setting, too splendid a grief.
A cinematic version of Celtic woe.
  Maybe, what? said Carnes fiercely.
 I just can t figure it.
 What? What can t you figure?
 Everything, man. Like why d the man pay us so much? And in advance. He coulda hired somebody
half the price. Less, even.
 He s always doin shit like that. Remember when Bobby Doyle s kid needed a new liver. Fuckin
McDonough, he don t ask for no collection. He just digs down in his pocket. Like the man said. We help
him, he helps us. We whack out the guy did his daughter, he takes care of us. That s how he s always
been.
 Sure, he s a fucking saint.
 Hey, man! He s a mick s got some power in the state house and ain t forgotten where he comes
from. In Southie that amounts to the same thing. You spent more time in the neighborhood steada hangin
out with those guido fucks in Back Bay, maybe you start thinkin like an Irishman again.
 That still doesn t explain why he d put the two of us together.
It appeared that Carnes was about to speak, but he remained silent.
 What were you gonna say? asked Penner.
 Nothin , man!
Penner, edging toward paranoia, could have sworn he detected the beginnings of a smirk.
-=*=-
A gray Lincoln Town Car came quiet as a shadow past them; it pulled into a parking space thirty feet
farther along. Carnes hand went inside his jacket. A cold, crawly trickle inched down between Penner s
shoulder blades. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ash tray. His fingers looked oddly white and unreal
the way they pushed and worked at the butt, like the segmented parts of some weird animal. Please God,
he said to himself, unsure whether he was praying for strength or permission to chicken out.
 Just you get in back of him. Carnes voice was tight.  I ll handle the talkin .
They waited until Milchuk started to climb out of the Lincoln. Then they walked rapidly toward him,
their breath steaming white. Milchuk was bending down into the car, fussing with papers in a briefcase.
He straightened, looked puzzled. He was younger and bigger than Penner had figured. Early thirties.
Six-three, six-four, maybe two-twenty. His handsome, squarish face had a rosy-cheeked pallor. His
black hair and moustache were neatly trimmed, but his jaw was dirtied with stubble. He had on a very
nice herringbone tweed overcoat, the kind with velvet on the lapels. Penner himself owned a similar coat,
though it was several years older and far more worn. He felt a measure of resentment toward Milchuk for
inadvertently showing him up.
  Scuse me, Mister Milchuk. We have a minute of your time? Carnes took a stand that forced
Milchuk to turn his back on Penner.
Milchuk made an impatient noise and said,  I got an appointment.
When Penner poked him with his automatic, he stiffened but did not turn his head to try and see the
gun as someone might who had never been that route before. Penner could feel Milchuk s pulse in his
gun hand, he could feel the whole breathing mass of nerves, bones, and meat. In the chill air the man s
cologne had a stinging, astringent scent.
 Awright, be cool, guys, Milchuk said.  I got a coupla hundred in my wallet. Inside pocket of the
overcoat.
 How  bout you takin a stroll over to the car, Carnes said.  The blue Caddy back there.
 What? said Milchuk. He snuck a peek at the car, and Penner, in a sympathetic reaction, had a peek
along with him. With its vanity plates that read SOX FAN 1 and the Red Sox logo painted on the hood,
the Caddy had an absurdly innocent look.
Carnes let out an exasperated sigh.  Hope you ain t gonna give us no trouble, Mister Milchuk,  cause
this is a very simple deal, what s happenin here. Now I wantcha to get in the back seat of the Caddy
with my associate there, okay? We re gonna drive you down the Cape a ways to where a man s waitin
for us. He s gonna talk to ya, tell ya a few things. Then we ll drive you back to Hyannis so s you can
have your breakfast.
Milchuk darted his eyes from side to side. Searching for police cars, brave strangers.  You guys
workin for Masacola?
 Masacola? Carnes said.  Who s that?
 Listen, said Milchuk, talking fast.  I dunno what this is alla  bout, but we can work somethin out,
you guys and me.
 Either get in the fuckin car, Carnes said flatly,  or swear to God I m gonna knock you cold and
throw ya in it. Now I m very sincere about this, Mister Milchuk. Nothin bad s gonna happen  long as
you don t give us no shit. Little drive in the country, little conversation. But dick us around, man, I m
gonna put lumps on your lumps. Okay?
Milchuk drew a deep breath, blew it out.  Okay, he said, and took a step toward the Caddy.
 Hey! Carnes pulled him back.  You gonna leave your car wide open! Your briefcase just lyin
there? He seemed appalled by the prospect.
Milchuk glanced at Penner, as if seeking a form of validation. Penner tried to keep his face empty.
 Lock the bitch, willya? Carnes said.  If you want, take the case with ya. You leave a fuckin car
like that unlocked, man, some nigger s gonna be ridin it around Roxbury.
This solicitude was a beautiful touch, Penner thought. Extremely professional. He could not help
admiring Carnes for it. Milchuk collected his papers, locked up the Lincoln. And as they walked to the
Caddy, Penner could tell by the firmness of his step that the dead man felt much better about his future.
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