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First he’d had a long talk with Janelle Harper, then an even longer one with his personal lawyer, then another call with Jan to report the gist of what the lawyer had said, which basically had been next to nothing—he’d said he was going to have to think it all over thoroughly. Then, as Badde pulled ten grand in cash from his office safe and stuffed it into a black duffel bag, he’d set up the rendezvous here at Eastern State Penitentiary.

And now Jan was calling again.

“Yeah, honey?”

She said: “The Russian just called and said now that the Diamond property is cleared, it’s time to talk. What do you think he meant by that? I mean the ‘cleared’ part?”

Badde said: “I don’t know what he meant. Just that he was pissed it’d taken so long with those holdouts. We’ll be there. Where and when?”

“He suggested Vista Fiume at ten-thirty,” Jan said. “That’s the nice new five-star. Make sure you change into nice clothes.”

“Ten-thirty? Damn, that’s late! But okay. I’ll pick you up.”

Rapp then heard his Go To Hell cell phone ring. The caller ID read: JACK JONES.

About damn time.

“Honey, I’ve got to take this one. I’ll call you back when I can. Meantime, you get ready for dinner, okay? We need our game faces on for this one. And I think the Russian really likes you.”

He broke off that call, then in his smoothest politician’s voice said into his Go To Hell phone, “Thanks for calling back, brother.”

He wanted to add: And thanks for taking your sweet goddamn time.

“Whut up, Rapp,” Jack Jones replied, his tone depressed. “You know all about Reggie, right?”

“Yeah, Kenny told me. I need to talk to him. That’s why I called. Know where he’s at?”

“Kenny?”

Yes, Kenny.

What the hell’s wrong with you, Jack? You’re not making sense.

Shock, maybe?

I do the bastard a favor and this is what I get.

And what the hell is that noise in the background? Bingo games?

“Yeah, I mean Kenny. I know he’s in trouble, Jack. When’s the last you heard from him?”

“Why?”

“Didn’t he tell you that I’m trying to reach him and arrange for the money?”

There was nothing but silence on the other end.

Badde went on: “Look, Jack, I really need to get in touch with him.”

He then remembered that Kenny, when he’d called screaming that he was the next to be killed if Reggie’s drug debt went unpaid, said that Jack was the one who’d gone to the Medical Examiner’s Office to ID the brutally beaten body.

“You know, we can’t let what happened to Reggie happen to him.”

There was another long moment of silence.

“No shit, Rapp,” Jack said disgustedly. “You wouldn’t believe how bad they beat him, man. About the only way I could tell for sure it was him was those scars on his ass from that dog that bit him when we were in middle school. There was nothing recognizable of his face. The medical guy said he thought they’d used a baseball bat, then poured some kind of acid on him. Nobody deserves that, Rapp.”

Rapp heard a tap-tap on the window of the Range Rover’s front passenger door. He looked and saw Allante Williams standing just outside the door. Williams was a nicely dressed, clean-cut black male in his late thirties. He was also Badde’s second cousin. While Williams tried to project a straight-laced, professional appearance, in reality he’d just gotten paroled after serving seven years on a ten-year rap for murder. He now ran what he called a “private security business.” And, throwing family a bone, Badde had had Urban Ventures put him on retainer.