“Need I remind you, Erin, this is precisely the outcome we wanted?”
She sighed. “You’re right. It just takes a little getting used to. But he’s okay with it? With you seeing me?”
“If not, he’d hardly tell me,” Carlyle said. “He’d register his objections in an executive fashion.”
Erin swallowed. She wasn’t sure what to say to that.
She was saved from the conversation by Liam’s arrival. The little, ferret-faced guy stepped through the door, glanced around, saw Erin and Carlyle, and scurried over to them. Halfway there, he paused and shot Ian a look. Ian returned it calmly. Then Liam got to the bar. He pulled himself onto a bar stool and tried to sit still.
It didn’t work. His fingers drummed on the bar. His eyes, bloodshot and runny, flicked all over the room. Liam was never a relaxing guy to be around, but he struck Erin as particularly jittery today.
“Hey, man,” she said. “Take it easy. Everything’s cool.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. He sniffled and rubbed his nose. He looked at Erin with pupils that looked like big, black eightballs. She couldn’t believe it. Eleven-fifteen in the morning and Liam was high as a kite.
“Thank you for meeting us, lad,” Carlyle said. “We understand you’re busy, and we appreciate it.”
“Okay, sure,” Liam said. “And I appreciate that thing last month.”
“Forget about it,” Erin said, giving the correct mob response. He was talking about the tip he’d given her which had led to the heroin shipment she and Sergeant Logan’s team had taken down. “But anything else that’s going on,” she added, “we can talk.”
“But in the meantime,” Carlyle interjected, “there’s something you may be able to help us with.”
“What’s that?” Liam asked. The bartender came over to see if they needed anything else. Liam started to wave her off, then changed his mind.
“You got milkshakes?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“Okay, gimme three chocolate shakes and some of those brownies you got, the ones with the whipped cream.”
The girl blinked. “I’m sorry, did you mean…?”
“I said three chocolate shakes, dammit!” he snapped. “Line ‘em up on the bar, one, two, three. You think you can count that high, bitch?”
“Okay, okay!” she said. “Asshole,” she added in an undertone as she moved off.
“Sorry,” Liam muttered, turning back to Carlyle and Erin. “What was that?”
“Someone took down some Lucarellis pretty hard yesterday,” Erin said. “I need to know who’s got a beef with them.”
Liam froze. For just a second, all his twitchy energy went totally still. Then he cocked his head and looked sidelong at Carlyle.
“The hell is this, Cars?”
Erin had gotten to know Carlyle pretty well, and she still had trouble seeing his surprise. Just a slight tightening of the skin around his eyes and his fingers curling a little more firmly around his glass of mineral water, that was all.
“I don’t know what you mean, Liam.”
“Why’d you bring her here? You said, like, she needed to talk to me. Okay, sure, I can talk, we can talk all day if you want, but y’know, we can only talk about this, not about that, y’know? I mean, how far in is she, really? Is she one of us, or one of them?”
“Lad,” Carlyle said gently, “you’re not making sense.”
“You here as a cop?” Liam asked Erin.
“Yeah, I am.”
Liam gave Carlyle a look that said “I told you so,” even though he hadn’t.
Erin shot Carlyle a confused look of her own. This was not going the way she’d expected. She tried to think what she could say.
“Look, Liam,” she began. “If there’s something going on I can help with, let me know. But you’ve got to talk to me, man. You don’t want to name names, that’s fine. But give me something I can use. We got a good relationship going here. I don’t want to jeopardize that, and I know you don’t, either.”
But Liam stood up, quickly and abruptly. “Screw this, man,” he said. “I gotta get outta here. Gotta get some air. Talk to you later, Cars.”
He stumbled, almost fell, and scrambled out the door, nearly running.
Carlyle watched him go and turned to Erin. “I’m sorry, darling,” he said. “I fear I’ve wasted all our time. I don’t know what’s come over the lad.”
“What the hell?” the bartender demanded. She was standing there with the three milkshakes and the bowl of brownies Liam had requested. “He coming back?”
“I fear not,” Carlyle said. “I apologize for him, ma’am. I’ll cover his tab, naturally.” He took out his wallet. Most mob guys carried their bills in a roll, but Carlyle was too classy for that. He fished out a couple of bills and slid them across the bar. “You needn’t give me any change.”
“Thanks,” the bartender said, pocketing the bills. “Whatcha doing hanging out with a jerk like that, anyway?”
“More business than pleasure, I assure you,” he said, turning his attention back to Erin. “I’m sure you’ll be needing to get back to work. I don’t suppose you’re hungry?” He indicated the brownies.
“That guy’s diet could give me diabetes just watching him eat,” she said. But she picked up one of the brownies and moved it toward her mouth.
The sound from outside wasn’t particularly loud, but it was distinctive. It was a rapid-fire series of rattling, popping sounds, a short burst followed by a longer one. A front window shattered, pebbles of tempered glass showering to the floor.
The bartender paused, staring in confusion. Erin and Ian were already moving, Carlyle a second behind them. Erin snatched out her Glock and ran toward the door. Rolf matched her stride for stride. Ian, with the smooth efficiency of a combat veteran, pulled a Beretta automatic from under his coat and, holding the gun in both hands, came to Carlyle’s side.
“Move, sir,” he said as Erin hurried past him. “Out the back. Now.”
Erin didn’t hear Carlyle’s answer. What she heard was screams from outside the pool hall. “NYPD!” she shouted. She flung the door open and ran onto the sidewalk.
A ragged half-circle of
