"Ready to go?" she asked, still upbeat.

  "Is Rosalie's okay?" I said, getting up.

  "Sure. I'll get Tommy."

  We shared a silent dinner, radicchio salad, pasta, and lamb chops, that went down in lumps. It wasn't until somewhere in the middle of my third bottle of wine that I felt like I'd made a big deal out of nothing. I noticed Tommy, batting a square of ice back and forth on the table with his fork and knife as it melted.

  I made a goal for him by touching my thumbs together and putting my fingers at a right angle to them.

  "Shoot," I said.

  He did and made it. The ice shot up over my hands and hit my face and we all laughed.

  "Honey," Jessica said. "We're in a restaurant."

  "Okay," I said. "Only two more."

  Tommy fired ice at me and we had some more laughs before I told him game over and he better go wash the red sauce off his face. We watched him skip off.

  "I'm sorry about getting on you," I said after a minute, taking her hand. She kind of smiled and I noticed her makeup for the first time. It was off just a bit. The lipstick bleeding past the edges of her lips. Black eyeliner thicker on one side. Rouge not quite blended in.

  "Hey, what happened to the mirrors?" I asked.

  She stiffened, looked away, and said, "Just a decorating thing. I read about it. Some Bauhaus thing Julia Roberts did."

  "I thought that was everything inside out, Bauhaus," I said. "Pipes outside the walls and stuff."

  "It's just something," she said, tucking the hair behind her ears.

  "Do you want to talk about it?" I asked.

  "Let's not ruin a nice dinner."

  "I don't mean with me," I said.

  "A shrink?" she asked, puckering her face.

  "We've both got, like our fingers in a dike," I said, "holding it back."

  She looked at me and motioned her eyes toward Tommy, who was back from the bathroom. She shook her head and emphatically mouthed the word no.

  I paid the bill and we drove home listening to Radio Disney. I played Ghost Recon on the Xbox with Tommy, then let Jessica read to him. I waited, lying on our bed in my boxers. After a while, I heard her in the bathroom, the rattle of a pill bottle, then moving around in her closet, before the lights went out. There was a slice of moon outside the window, so when she stood beside the bed I could see the silk teddy, shimmering white and cut high on her hips.

  "Being on top is hard," she said. "People try to knock you down, try to take it away. You have to fight. We have to take care of ourselves, of each other."

  She put her mouth to mine and kissed me deep. In the middle of it all, she let out a groan, digging her nails into my back and breaking the skin. I didn't even care. When we broke apart, I lay panting until I fell asleep. I don't know if it was two minutes or twenty, but sometime soon she shook me awake. The room glowed in the pale white light from the moon. The twisted sheets and the pillows, damp with sweat, had been pushed to the edges of the mattress. Her head was tucked under my arm with the tip of her nose touching the edge of my chest.

  "I was thinking," she said in a voice I had to strain to hear, "about what I said. About taking care. We should put some money aside. Just in case."

  "Okay," I said, groggy. "Sure"

  "The money is gushing out on that project," she said. "The banks have no idea where it goes. We could set up a company offshore."

  "Offshore?" I asked, rolling up on one elbow. Wide awake.

  "I mean, what if we had a hundred million dollars in an account?" she said. "We'd never have to worry."

  "That's the truth," I said, chuckling and shaking my head.

  "It wouldn't be that hard," she said, raising up on one elbow, her eyes wide.

  "No," I said. "You just take it."

  "Exactly," she said, gripping my arm.

  "Come on."

  "People do it all the time," she said, whispering, urgent.

  "And go to jail."

  "I think you just have to hide it, like in a Swiss bank. You could get it, but you could even put it back if you had to.

  "I'm going to find out."

  I shut my eyes and lay back on the bed, breathing through my nose. The marks on my back were beginning to sting.

  41

  "HOW'S YOUR SON?" Johnny G asked. He had a small brown bag of pistachios in his hand. He was popping the nuts into his mouth one at a time, tossing them a foot from his face, extracting the meat, and spitting out the shell.

  They were on an empty road in the swamp behind the Meadowlands and they walked in the great expanse between streetlights. The NYPD cop had his hands jammed deep into the pockets of his leather coat.

  "Good," the cop said after a silent moment. "Thank you."

  "Amazing, ain't it?" Johnny G said. "From all the way up here to all the way down there in the Sunshine State, me keeping him safe."

  Johnny spit out a husk and shook his head, taking a deep draft of the smelly air.

  "He'll be out in April," the cop said quietly.

  "And then what will I do?" Johnny said with a laugh, mussing up the cop's salt-and-pepper mane.

  "Who's gonna keep me two steps ahead?"

  The cop's frozen face kept its focus on the distant city lights.

  "Not you, huh?" Johnny said. "Well, you did good while it lasted. Who knows? Maybe he'll break his probation?"

  Johnny slapped the cop's back. The sneer he saw made him chuckle. "Yeah, my uncle always used to say to me, he'd say, 'Johnny, you can bone a guy's wife, but don't ever mess with his kids.' That's what he said and I knew he was right, but I always thought he meant kids like when they're riding tricycles and shit, not out having gunfights with crackheads. But I guess it goes for kids no matter how old. A man loves his kids, right? Do anything."

  The cop said nothing. He just kept walking with his hands jammed down deep and his cold frown.

  "I don't want any more killing," the cop said, angling his eyes at a 767 roaring up out of Newark, drowning out the whisper of the cattails.

  "Funny, though, isn't it?" Johnny said. "Cop like you with a bad guy for a kid, all those big bucks down south there wanting him for their bitch. You know where my son is? Dentist out in Sacramento. How about that? Met a girl from there at school. Fixing people's teeth while yours was selling crack to kids. Life's funny.

  "So, when you say that, about no more killing," Johnny said, spitting so hard he lost the meat too, "I know you got some good shit for me, and I got a poker game waiting so let's have it."

  "They know about Thane Coder," the cop said, looking at him.

  "You told me Coder was working for you," Johnny said, grinning. "A big witness, you called him."

  The cop sighed and said, "I'm just telling you what I hear."

  "Go ahead."

  "The guy, Ben Evans?" the cop said. "There might be some database to prove Coder got either himself or someone into the lodge the night James King was killed. There's a retina scanner to let you in."

  "Nice friend, huh?" Johnny said, popping in another nut.

  "Which one?"

  "You're right," Johnny said, shucking with his teeth, spitting, and chewing slowly. "Kind of deserve each other, don't they? Like you and your boy."

  "You gonna do that?" the cop said with a sigh. "Why?"

  Johnny narrowed one eye at the cop. "You don't like it? Go get your scumbag kid some protection somewhere else. You're lucky I'm not making your wife service the crew at the job site."

  The cop's hand whipped out of his pocket, slipped inside the coat and came out with a .357 that he pointed in Johnny's face. A big jet screamed overhead and the gun trembled. Johnny smiled and when the roar of the plane finally faded, he said, "There's two types of cops that pull guns. The ones who shoot and the ones who never will.

  "You missed your chance a long time ago."

  Johnny's smile never faded as he pushed past the cop and strolled back to his waiting car with one thing on his mind. Ben Evans.

  42

  "Jessica was right," I say. "When you're on top, everybody's gunning for you. It's kill or be killed. It just is."

  The shrink just looks at me and blinks a couple of times behind his heavy face.

  "How was he going to kill you?" he asks.

  "They have the death penalty in this state," I say. "You know I had to do what I did with James, so I was exposed. You don't have to stab someone or pull the trigger to kill him, but it's all the same, and Ben was trying to kill me."

  I knew it wasn't good that Mike Allen wanted to see me in New York. That's what I was thinking when we walked through the small terminal at Teterboro and I saw two limousines waiting outside the plane instead of one. Jessica got Amy to watch our son so she could go with me and she made for the limo in the rear.

  "You're not coming?" I asked.

  "You've got business," she said. "You don't mind if I get some things, right?"

  "What things?" I asked, tilting my head, trying to figure if she had a little more rouge on than normal.

  "Who knows?" she said. "Shoes. A dress maybe. Some Victoria's Secret."

  I smiled at that and gave her a kiss, and waved as she pulled away. But when our two cars reached the Jersey Turnpike, hers went north while my driver went south. I immediately dialed her cell phone and asked what she was doing, that I thought she was going to Manhattan.

  "We're taking the GW," she said. "My driver thinks it's faster than the tunnel."

  The project was north too. So was Johnny G.

  "Oh," I said. "Okay. See you at dinner. Eight, right?"

  "You'll be fine."

  When we came out through the Lincoln Tunnel, my driver headed south. Mike Allen had the penthouse of a building next to Battery Park and overlooking New York Harbor. The elevator was paneled in pink granite and chrome and when I got off, the doorway to Mike Allen's place stared at me like the vault to a bank. Two great doors. Polished metal. And, instead of a doorknob, a chrome wheel with five thick spokes.

  I rang and a tall sharp-faced butler answered the door and led me in. The spaces were vast and white, rooms punctuated by the minimal amount of odd-shaped leather chairs or, in one case, a single amorphous orange statue. Windows rose from the floor to the height of the ceiling. Mike Allen appeared from the kitchen wearing a yellow golf sweater and spiked shoes that clicked loudly against the marble floor.

  "Thane?" he said. "Drink?"

  He rattled a gin and tonic at me, the lime swirling in the ice. Over his other shoulder was a wooden golf club.

  "Sure."

  He winked at the butler and motioned me toward another elevator.

  "Watch. It'll be there before we are," he said, the doors rolling shut. When the elevator doors opened, I had the strangest feeling of having shifted into another place and time, just like a dream, but I was awake. Green trees, some twelve feet high, and shrubs framed our view of the perfect blue sky resting peacefully over a brilliant green golf tee. I could smell the grass, and as we walked up the mound, complete with a bench and a ball washer, I could smell the dirt as Mike's shoes tore into the turf.

  "A little spot I like," Mike said, smiling and obviously pleased by the look of wonder on my face. A woman dressed in a yellow maid's uniform appeared from around the trees and handed me my drink before disappearing without a word. As we reached the top of the tee, the New York harbor opened before us. The Goethals Bridge spanning Staten Island and New Jersey. Ellis Island. The moldy green Statue of Liberty. There was a bucket of balls beside the bench. Mike teed one up and whacked it into space.

  "So, we got problems," Mike said as he teed up his next shot.

  "It's a different world down here," I said.

  Mike looked up from his ball and smiled at me, showing all his teeth.

  "You know why this isn't a phone call, right?" he asked. "You know how I feel about you, but we've got real problems. Ben--"

  "Jesus, him again," I said, throwing up my eyes and my hands at the same time, spilling part of my drink.

  "He's got a following," Mike said, his smile losing steam. "He's respected in the industry, and this is a public company. A week after the IPO, the stock hit twenty. Yesterday we dropped below eight. It makes us look real bad. People are talking about the project. The union."

  "You can't get things built down here without them," I said. "People know that."

  "I know, but they don't move the opening date out twelve months," Mike asked, smacking another ball before looking for the answer. "The banks get nervous."

  "We moved the opening in Boston," I said, fighting to keep my voice from slipping into a whine.

  "The drinking. There were a lot of people at that dinner when you passed out," Mike said. He spoke softly, letting me know that he was my friend. "Stuff like that makes it hard."

  "Mike, I got drunk with some friends."

  "You think they were all your friends?" he said. "Look, this thing isn't over yet. That's why I wanted to see you, but you've got to do something. Talk to Ben. Work something out. If you two can join forces, you can work through this."

  "And if we don't?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

  Mike smiled and said, "Aw, come on. It's like politics. You make alliances. You guys go way back. You'll be fine."

  He took aim at his perfectly dimpled white ball and smashed it. I watched as long as I could, until it was the smallest fleck of a shadow, and then swallowed up by the enormous space. 43

  I SAT AT THE BAR OF DANIEL drinking vodka tonics until my teeth were numb. The waiters all wore the same dark suits and the same pink ties with thin orange stripes, but the leather bar stool was padded and comfortable enough for me not to want to move. When I saw the bartender's eyes jump, I turned around to catch Jessica slipping out of a mink coat at the maitre d' stand. Her hair was as rich and dark as the coat and held back with a thin diamond band. She wore a low-cut pearl-colored dress and thin heels. The uneven makeup, though, left her looking like a call girl. I stood and greeted her from across the room. She came at me with open arms, kissing me on the mouth. The maitre d' asked us if we'd like to sit down and we followed him into the dining room, where tall columns and long thick drapes made the ceiling seem miles away. The middle of the room was sunken marble. He led us along the gallery to a table nestled into the corner looking out over the rest of the room. I started to sit, but Jessica was frozen, her head looking away and down.

  "Could we please sit somewhere else?" she said, still looking away.

  "This is our best table," the maitre d' said with a light chuckle. "Especially for Mr. Coder."

  I looked from Jessica to the maitre d' to the ornate gold-framed mirror.

  "How about there?" she said, pointing in the opposite corner, a table surrounded almost entirely by the walls of a full-size Turkish tent.

  "That's for parties," the maitre d' said. When he saw the hundred-dollar bill I was holding out for him he hesitated. "I have one due at nine-thirty."

  I peeled off nine more bills.

  "This way, please," he said with a bow.

  We entered the crimson tent with its gold vertical stripes and pointed top. Three waiters were hurriedly removing all the service but the two on the end where we sat.

  "Romantic," Jessica said. "Thank you."

  We ordered a bottle of Dom and I told them to bring me a fresh vodka tonic in the meantime. Then we were alone.

  "What's wrong?" I asked, finishing my drink.

  "It didn't go well with Mike Allen?" she asked.

  "It's fine," I said. "Politics. They want me to play nice with Ben."

  Jessica's eyes narrowed and she stared down at the table. A waiter brought me a fresh drink.

  "Ben," she said when he was gone, gritting her little teeth.

  "Just business."

  "Was it business what he tried to do to me?" she asked, her eyes blazing.

  "He's not my friend."

  "No, he's not," she said, shaking her head. "He's worse than anything you ever thought. Worse than what he did to me."

  I reached over and put my hand on her wrist.

  "I saw Johnny."

  "The GW Bridge," I said, shaking my head. "Why didn't you just tell me."

  "I'm trying to help us," she said, raising her voice, tugging free.

  "The guy is a mobster."

  "The guy is our partner," she said, glaring. "It's business."

  I snatched up my drink and swallowed it whole, slamming the glass down and glaring right back at her.

  "That's right," she said. "Medicate yourself. Just slip into oblivion."

  "You're the one who can't even look at yourself. Take another pill."

  "Ben Evans is going to try to get the records of the retina scanner for the F-B-I," she said, leaning forward, seething.

  "You're the one who told me to do it, scan my eye and walk away."

  "It would've been nice if you told me there might be a record," she said.

  "You're the one pulling the levers," I said. "You pull the wrong one and you want to blame me."

  "Not so loud," she said, hissing as she looked around and leaned my way. "All you do is gripe, and I'm working to keep this all together. To keep us together."

  "Us?" I said.

  The waiter arrived with a silver bucket and began fussing with the champagne. I told him to give me the bottle and leave the glasses. He frowned, but took one look at my face and did it. I popped the cork, firing it into the side of the tent, and poured from the smoky neck.

  "To us," I said, twisting my mouth and raising my glass.

  "You've got to get rid of him," she said.

  "Sure I do," I said. "That's easy, right?"

  I leaned over the table and grabbed hold of her forearm, hissing my words. "I'm not killing anyone."

  "I'm not killing anyone," she said, mocking me with her whine.

  I tossed down the champagne.

  "Have another drink," she said.

  "Thanks, I will," I said, refilling my glass. "I'll work something out. Split things with him or something. Get him on our side."

  "Split things with him," she said, curling her upper lip and jerking her head side to side, like a puppet, as she spoke. "Best buddies.

  "Oh, God, you fool," she said.

  My fist hit the table and everything jumped. People down on the floor craned their necks, looking in through the big opening. A waiter peeked around the corner, then disappeared. I stood up and so did she. We both walked toward the door, swatting and nudging each other with elbows as we went, moving fast. She stopped for her coat. I swept past her and burst outside, into the night.