But this protest was cut short when Myles, in a move Hitch never saw coming, jabbed him hard and fast in the ribs with an elbow that seemed to be made of steel. Hitch’s breath expelled in a whoosh and he doubled over, eyes tearing as he held his side.
Hitch felt the gun at his hip, and for a brief second he thought of using it, of pulling it out and blowing a hole right through Myles’s fucking head, and then through Dane’s dead eye, but he looked up to see that Dane had turned his face toward him, and the impulse quickly faded.
“As much as I enjoyed that,” Dane said, “he won’t be able to play his part this evening if you injure him too badly, Myles.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Oh, don’t apologize. As I said, I quite enjoyed it. Perhaps now, Detective Hitchcock, you will be so good as to refrain from interrupting.”
Hitch said nothing.
“Mr. Dane has questions for Ms. Rosario,” Myles began again. “Mr. Dane will need your assistance in order to obtain her full cooperation.”
Hitch opened his mouth and drew breath to speak. He felt the ache in his ribs and stayed silent.
“You know where Detective Frank Harriman lives, is that correct?” Myles asked.
Hitch nodded. “Went over there after a hockey tournament once.”
Dane said, “Of course. You attended college on a hockey scholarship, as I recall. What a wreckage you’ve made of yourself since then. I confess I’m rather amazed that you can still manage to skate.”
“I can skate.”
Dane smiled at the hint of defiance in Hitch’s voice.
“Tonight you will visit Detective Harriman’s home,” Myles said.
“I’ll see him at the game tonight — my team plays his.”
Myles looked over at Dane. Dane nodded. Myles slapped Hitch across the face, hard enough to make Hitch’s head snap back against the seat.
“Are you paying attention now?” Myles asked.
Hitch rubbed the heated mark on his face, but nodded.
“Tonight you will visit the Harriman home before the game. Ms. Rosario is staying there.”
Hitch grew wide-eyed.
Dane leaned forward. “Your reaction interests me, Detective Hitchcock. Is it one of surprise? Anticipation? Or fear?”
“Surprise. Like I said—”
“Yes, my hearing is fine, thank you.” But he studied Hitch in a way that made the detective call upon whatever shreds of courage were left to him in order not to shrink back. After what seemed to Hitch an eternity, Dane smiled, released him from his gaze, and turned to Myles.
Myles immediately said, “I have further instructions, Detective Hitchcock. I will give them to you in a moment.” He picked up a cell phone and handed it to Hitch. “First, call your bank.”
“My bank?” Hitch said.
“Apparently his own hearing is suffering,” Dane said.
Hitch cringed, expecting another blow. When it didn’t come, he began dialing.
“No,” Myles said. “The other bank. Where you keep the account the Internal Affairs Division will have difficulty tracing to you.”
Hitch hung up, and — hands shaking — dialed again.
“Use the automated, self-service system to check your account balance.”
Hitch froze. Myles took the phone from him and entered all the required information, including the account number and the phony Social Security number Hitch had used to establish the account.
Myles handed the phone back just in time for Hitch to hear the mechanical recorded voice say, “Your account balance is four dollars and fifty-two cents.”
All color drained from Hitch’s face.
“Shall we save some time?” Myles said. “Or would you like to hear what has become of your airline reservations?”
“Tsk, tsk,” Dane said. “After all our years together? Not even a kiss goodbye? I feel so used, Detective Hitchcock!”
“Has Mr. Dane ever treated you unfairly?” Miles asked.
Hitch shook his head.
“No?”
“No.”
“Has he ever required you to do anything that you could not easily do?”
