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THERE IS NO GATE at the end of the driveway on Bay Road, no lights on in the house.

But the Maserati is parked in front of the garage.

It takes Thomas McGoey a long time to answer the door after Jimmy insistently keeps ringing the bell.

“Do you realize what time it is?” he says, vigorously rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

Jimmy promptly gives him a two-handed shove, knocking him back about ten feet, nearly putting McGoey down before he steadies himself.

McGoey’s eyes get even bigger as Jimmy closes the distance between them.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, coming in here like this?” McGoey says.

“Who did you tell?” Jimmy says, keeping his voice low.

“Who did I tell what ?” McGoey says.

He’s wearing long pajama bottoms, but no shirt of any kind, or Jimmy would have grabbed him by the front of it and lifted his ass right off the ground.

“Who did you tell that Jane plans to call Sonny Blum?” Jimmy says.

“I didn’t tell anybody,” McGoey says.

“You tell one of your goombah buddies?” Jimmy says, ignoring him. “Is that how it went down?”

“Will you take it easy, please?” McGoey says.

He’s not looking Jimmy in the eye, even with Jimmy right on top of him. He’s focused on Jimmy’s hands instead, as if they’re not going to be at his sides for long.

“And though we both know what a hot-shit lawyer you are, Tommy,” Jimmy says, “I would strongly advise you not to lie to me.”

There is just barely enough room between them for McGoey to slowly put his own hands out in front of him, making sure the gesture is completely nonthreatening.

“Can we sit down and talk about this?” he says. “Or do you just want to continue to act like a tough guy?”

“You think I can’t do both, tough guy?” Jimmy asks him.

McGoey sidesteps Jimmy now and walks into the spacious living room. He sits down on the leather couch and gestures to one of the chairs across from it.

“I’ll stand,” Jimmy says.

“Suit yourself.”

“You worked with Jane today,” Jimmy says.

“I know this because I just got off the phone with her. She says the only two people she’s talked to about adding Sonny Blum to her witness list are me—and you.

She hasn’t mentioned it to Norma Banks yet, or her boyfriend, or her fucking dog.

But she knows I don’t talk, Tommy. Which leaves only you. ”

“Listen,” McGoey says, “if I’ve learned one thing with the people I have chosen to represent, it’s to not go outside the family.”

It’s interesting, Jimmy tells himself, watching McGoey gather himself, almost like the guy is shaking off a punch Jimmy never threw.

“You can believe me or not,” McGoey continues. “But if there’s one thing my clients know, it’s that I don’t talk either. It’s one of the many reasons why I live as well as I do. The operative word being live. ”

Jimmy starts to say something, but McGoey isn’t quite finished.

“I am well aware that people in Sonny Blum’s world, even if they’re competitors, occasionally share information when they see it as being mutually beneficial, it would be na?ve of me not to think that way,” he says.

“But I’m not one of those people, Cunniff.

And while you may not believe me on this, I actually like Jane.

And wouldn’t do anything like you’re suggesting to jam her up. ”

Jimmy walks over and sits down next to him, and shows him the photograph of Beth Lassiter, and the accompanying text.

“Jesus,” McGoey says softly.

“And Mary, and Joseph, too,” Jimmy says.

He takes his phone back and stuffs it in the side pocket of his jacket.

“For the last time,” Jimmy says. “You’re sure you didn’t talk about Sonny with anybody?”

He sees McGoey’s eyes get big again, just like that, but not because he’s afraid he’s about to be hit.

“Wait, there is just one,” he says. “But I just assumed he already knew.”