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umbrella over his head but wasn’t sharing any of it with his sidekick. Rocco, the big dummy, just stood in the rain getting soaked. Ray waited, both hands on the steering wheel, griping it tight, his knuckles feeling like they were going to explode.
    â€œDid you like our little joke?” Tony said.
    Rocco chuckled.
    Ray said nothing.
    Tony grinned. “I wanted to get your attention, Raymond.”
    â€œMy name is Ray.”
    Tony shrugged. “Whatever.”
    â€œYou got my attention. What do you want?”
    â€œWhen Mr. Messina asks you to do something, you don’t think about it, you just do it.”
    Ray felt a drop of urine run down his cheek. He grabbeda hand towel he kept wedged between the console and the driver’s seat and wiped his face. “I thought that’s what he had guys like you for?”
    â€œHe wants you to handle it.”
    Ray tossed the towel onto the passenger seat, then looked at Rocco, at the rain soaking his clothes, the big fat drops splashing off the Glock .45 in his hand. Turning to Tony, Ray asked, “Why me?”
    Despite the rain, Tony was still managing to look cool, the umbrella protecting his gel-slick hair and silk suit. “Since it’s your mess, it’s only fair that you have to clean it up.”
    â€œI’m not the dumbass who left three hundred grand up there.”
    â€œYou let four assholes with guns come into our—”
    â€œWith guns is right, Tony. What the hell was I supposed to do? Stick my finger in my pocket, tell ’em to freeze?”
    Tony jabbed a finger in Ray’s face. “I’m not here to argue. I’m here to relay a message. You either find these assholes or you die in their place.”
    Rocco chuckled again.
    â€œWe’re not talking about four douche bags who were looking for a Seven-Eleven to knock off,” Ray said. “They knew exactly what they were doing, and they’re not going to stick around afterward. That crew is long gone by now.”
    â€œYou better hope not.”
    â€œWhat makes you think I can find them any better than you can?”
    Tony shook his head. “I don’t.”
    â€œThen why—”
    â€œI told you, this is what Mr. Messina wants.”
    Ray stared at Tony, his slicked hair, his Italian suit, his Bruno Magli loafers.
    Why do these wiseguys need a broken-down ex-cop and ex-con doing their dirty work for them. Unless
. . .
    â€œYou screwed up, didn’t you, Tony? It was you who left all that money in the counting room. What happened? Were you upstairs knocking off a piece of ass when you should have been taking care of—”
    â€œShut up!” Tony snapped. He shot a glance at Rocco, then nodded at Ray. Rocco stepped in quick, lowering the pistol as he swung his left fist at Ray’s face. Seeing it coming, Ray threw his hands up and leaned back. He got one hand in the way, taking some of the power off Rocco’s punch, but not enough as the goon’s brick-size fist caught him in the mouth.
    Ray rolled back across the console and tucked his knees up into his belly in case Rocco came in after him, but he didn’t. Instead, the big man bent down and picked up the water pistol. He aimed it at Ray and pumped the trigger three times, laughing as the stream of urine hit Ray in the face and head. On the fourth pump, just a dribble came out and Rocco threw the empty plastic gun on top of Ray, then slammed the Mustang’s door shut.
    Tony pressed his face against the closed window and yelled, “Somebody’s got to pay, Raymond. It’s either going to be you or them.” Then he disappeared into the passenger door of the Lincoln and closed his umbrella. Like a faithful dog, Rocco trotted around the big car and squeezed in behind the wheel. The motor cranked. Then the Lincoln tore out of the parking lot, its tires spinning on the wet pavement.

C HAPTER S IX
    Ray called three times and left three messages.