The man stared straight ahead, as he drove slowly, without speaking. Burke watched him for a moment. He was a thick pale-faced man with a lot of flesh around his neck. He was wearing a tan golf jacket and a white broadcloth shirt. He was having trouble swallowing. Burke was silent. No cars passed them as they drove. As they went under a streetlight Burke could see the sweat on the man’s face. In the quiet night with only the sound of the tires on the pavement, Burke could hear how shallow the man’s breathing was.
There was a bus stop past a gas station on the right.
“Pull over,” Burke said. “Leave the motor on.”
The man pulled in and stopped in the empty space of the bus stop.
“I might not kill you,” Burke said.
The man didn’t answer.
“I want to kill you,” Burke said. “You would have killed me back there if you could have.”
The man shook his head.
“But I need something from you,” Burke said. “So I might have to let you go.”
The man turned and looked at him.
“If you got it and give it to me,” Burke said.
The man nodded.
“What’s your name?” Burke said.
The man cleared his throat.
“Richard,” he said.
Burke nodded as if a suspicion had been confirmed.
“Okay, Richard,” Burke said, “here’s how it is. You give me what I want and I let you go. Or you don’t — because you won’t, because you can’t, makes no difference to me — and I cut you in two with the shotgun and dump you in the trunk on top of your buddy.”
“Whaddya want?” Richard said.
“What were you doing at that house?”
“I don’t know. I just went along with Chuck, for backup, you know?”
“Richard,” Burke said, “you don’t seem to get your situation here. If that’s the kind of answers you can give me, you’re going to be dead in maybe a minute.”
Richard looked down at the steering wheel and shook his head as if to clear it.
“We was going to kill the nigger,” he said.
“Why?”
“Guy wanted him dead.”
“What guy?”
“I can’t tell you that,” Richard said.
Burke laughed softly. He put the muzzle of the shotgun against Richard’s right cheekbone.
“I can’t. I rat and I’m a dead man.”
“And if you don’t?” Burke said softly.
Richard was silent for a moment, shaking his head slowly, staring at the empty street. Burke could see tears on his cheeks.
“Was it Paglia?” Burke said.
Richard nodded slowly.
“He hire you himself?” Burke said.
Richard shook his head.
“Who?” Burke said.
“Cash.” Richard was almost whispering.
“Tall thin guy?”
Richard nodded.
“Paglia’s shooter?” Burke said. “Sort of high shoulders?”
Richard nodded again, crying silently.
“How do you get in touch with him?” Burke said.
Richard started to shake his head. Burke jabbed his cheek with the shotgun.
“I...” Richard said. “I... You call a joint on the West Side, the Black Cat Club, leave a message with the bartender.”
“And Cash calls you back.”
“Yeah, or he meets you someplace.”
Burke nodded. He sat quietly for a moment.
Then he said, “Okay, drive back the way you came.”
“U-turn?” Richard said.
“Yeah.”
“What if there’s a cop?”
“Make the fucking U-turn,” Burke said.
They drove in silence back along the empty street. Two blocks from Robinson’s house, Burke said, “Stop here.”
The car stopped next to the hydrant where Burke had parked his car. Burke opened his door and put the canvas bag out onto the street.
“You’re on your own,” he said to Richard.
“What am I supposed to do with Chuck?” Richard said.
“Not my problem,” Burke said. “I was you I’d dump the car, get on a train and go live someplace else.”
He stepped out of the car, and shut the door. He watched as Richard pulled away, then he picked up the canvas bag, put it in his trunk, took the remaining load from the shotgun, put the shell in his pocket and the shotgun in the trunk. He closed the lid. Then he walked the two blocks to Robinson’s house and rang the doorbell. There was movement in the house and at the window, then Robinson opened the front door. He was dressed and he carried a baseball bat.
“Everything’s fine,” Burke said.
“How about the shot I heard?”
Burke shook his head.
“Everything’s fine,” he said. “Go to sleep. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”
Burke stared back at Robinson’s dark fierce intelligent gaze for a moment, and waited. But Robinson decided not to say anything else. He closed the door. Burke walked back two blocks to his car and drove home.