His grin spread, and he reached for a cigarette. 'Sure it is, Mr. S. It's a big fucking game, and you're my ace in the hole. You're gonna pull it out for me, just like before.'
I pushed to my feet so fast the box I'd been sitting on fell over, clattered on the floor. I took two steps across the room, grabbed Jimmy's parka, slammed him up against the wall. His cigarette dropped and his fists clenched but all he did was stare at me through eyes suddenly grown huge.
'What the flick—!'
'Shut up, you stupid bastard!' I felt the blood rush hot to my face. 'Now listen to me! There's no game. A man's dead: the game's over. I don't know if I can pull it out for you, but I know this: there's only one way now. My way! You got that, Jimmy?'
He didn't answer, didn't move.
Our eyes locked in silence. In his eyes I saw the kid who, years ago, had skated out onto a frozen pond on a dare, triumphantly clowning at first, then hearing the ice crack.
I didn't know what he saw in mine.
I spoke slowly, controlling my voice. 'You're going to give me everything you know.'
I released him urgently, took a step back, drew in a long breath. My Salem had scorched the table where I'd left it. I set the box on end again, sat down.
Jimmy still hadn't moved.
'You never knocked me around before,' he said, angry and accusing but with a note of wonder. 'My dad did, and Tony, but you never did.'
'Maybe I never thought it would do any good before.'
He pushed off from the wall, yanked his parka back on straight. He turned the chair around, straddled the seat, arms crossed along the back. I took another drag of the Salem, dropped it and crushed it.
'My way?' I asked.
Jimmy nodded.
I began: 'Who killed Wally Gould?'
'I don't know. I wasn't there.'
'You don't have any ideas?'
He shrugged.
'Why was he killed at the bar?'
'I don't know, unless to make me look bad.'
'Who'd want to do that?'
He smiled a little. 'Mostly, Wally.'
'All right, try this. Frank Grice tried to soften Tony up the other night. Why?'
Surprise stiffened his body. 'Frank? Tony? What happened? Is Tony okay?'
I told him about the fight, Gould, and the gun. 'Grice told Tony he had something on you, and it would cost him to keep it quiet. What does he have?'
'Oh, shit, Mr. S.! What the hell could he have? I've been clean, man,
'She did tell me.' I opened another beer; my mouth was as dry as the rock dust that coated everything in the shack. 'She also told me that a couple of weeks ago you started fooling around with Ginny Sanderson.'
'Yeah' was all he gave me, and that reluctantly.
'Where'd you meet her?'
'At the Creekside.'
'Grice's place?'
'Uh-huh.'
'I thought you told Alice you were through with those people.'
'I just stopped by for a beer, man. Just a beer, with the guys. They were all starting to say stuff. You know, about how I wasn't hanging out no more . . .'
'Yeah, Jimmy. Okay. Where's Ginny now?'
'Where's Ginny? How the hell do I know? Who cares?'
'She dropped you for another guy. Who?'
He pulled out a cigarette, tapped it on the pack. 'I don't know.'
'She didn't tell you who it was?'
'Uh-uh. She only said he was tougher than me. That's what she likes, tough. She thinks she's tough, too.' He lit the cigarette, licked his thumb and forefinger, squeezed out the match. It made a sizzling sound. A smudge of smoke rose, broke up, and vanished. 'She told me to get lost. She said . . .' He trailed off.
'What?'
