survivors from 12A Horn Street. One of them was Esteban Carty. The girl and the three men went around the corner. Crow tapped “shave and a haircut, two bits” on the tops of his thighs for a moment. Then he took a cell phone out of the center console and punched up a number.
“I found her,” he said. “Her and her mother. But in a couple minutes she’s going to know I found her. How you want me to handle it.”
“How’s she look,” the voice said at the other end of the connection.
“The kid?” Crow said.
“Of course the kid, I don’t give a fuck how Fiona looks.”
Crow smiled but kept the smile out of his voice.
“Looks fine,” he said.
“She pretty?”
“Sure,” Crow said.
“She’s fourteen now, sometimes they change.”
“She looks great,” Crow said.
“Fiona know about you?”
“Not yet. I assume the kid will tell her,” Crow said.
“She might. She might not. Can’t take the chance. Kill Fiona and bring me the kid.”
Crow took the cell phone from his ear for a moment and looked at it. Then he put it back and spoke into it.
“Sure,” he said, and folded shut his cell phone and sat where he was.
21.
“You guys reestablish contact with Crow yet?” Jesse said.
He was in the squad room with Suitcase Simpson, Arthur Angstrom, Peter Perkins, and Molly.
“He knows he’s being tailed,” Suit said. “He loses us whenever he wants to. You know that.”
“I know,” Jesse said. “Just asking.”
“We been staking out his house,” Arthur said. “Figure he’ll show up there pretty soon.”
“Got a notice out on his car?” Jesse said.
“Car’s at the house,” Arthur said.
“Maybe he’s got another one,” Jesse said.
“Another one?”
“Leave the car at home,” Jesse said. “Take a cab, rent another car. Cops don’t have your number.”
“If he can spend that kind of dough,” Angstrom said.
Arthur was defensive by nature.
“Arthur,” Molly said. “This guy left here ten years ago with about twenty million dollars in cash.”
“He’s got that kind of dough, why’s he here working?” Angstrom said.
