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“Who grabbed Reggie?” Badde asked.

“The dude he bought his coke from. The man. His dealer.”

Badde sighed audibly.

“So, what would you have me do about it?”

Kenny was quiet a moment, then with a tone that was incredulous said, “What else, man? You know.”

“What?”

“The money. I need the money bad to get him back.”

Can I quickly put my hands on that much even if I wanted? Badde thought as he looked out at the city and mentally went over his cash reserves.

There’s only ten, eleven grand in my office safe.

He was silent for at least a minute.

“You still there?” asked Kenny.

Badde didn’t reply.

Kenny said, “We go way back. My family’s done a lot for you, man.”

And I’ve not helped you?

And what the hell have you done that’s worth thirty grand?

Kenny added, “It’d just be a loan. You name the interest, whatever.”

Right. Where the hell will you get that to repay me?

“Rapp? You there?”

“Yeah, Kenny. I’m here. Isn’t there any way you can work out an arrangement with this dealer, just—”

Kenny Jones interrupted him: “Are you listening, man? We passed that point. These people kill for less!”

Rapp stared off into the night, silent.

Kenny went on: “Listen, man, it, uh, it wouldn’t be good for folks to find out about those ballots, you know what I’m saying?”

What? “Those ballots”?

He’s threatening me!

Sonofabitch! He thinks he can finger me for the voter fraud!

He blurted: “Are you fucking threatening me? You fucking ingrate!”

“I’m just saying . . .”

Jesus! Him getting diarrhea of the mouth would start the whole house of cards crumbling, starting with the campaign for mayor. And I can kiss the housing project goodbye.

Well, that is fucking worth thirty grand.

But if I cough up the money, I can forget getting paid back, with or without interest.