"No?"

"Yeah, no. You talk to him, right? And let's say his position doesn't change. Where's that put you? Asking for something he ain't going to give."

"So then I ice his a.s.s."

"And then? You whack a made guy, everyone's going to say, No problem?"

Bubba shrugged as we rolled through the mouth of the tunnel and out into the North End. "I don't think that far ahead."

"I do."

He gave me another shrug, a harder one. "So you're just going to back down?"

"Yeah. That okay with you?"

"Fine," he said distantly. "Fine, man. Whatever."

He didn't look at me when he dropped me off. He kept his eyes on the road, his head moving slightly in time with the chug of the engine.

I got out of the Hummer and Bubba spoke with his eyes still locked on the avenue. "Maybe you should get out."

"Get out of where?"

"This business."

"Why's that?"

"Fear kills, man. Shut the door, will you?"

I closed the door and watched him drive off.

When he reached the light, he slammed on the brakes and then the Hummer was suddenly careening back toward me in reverse. I looked down the avenue, saw a red Escort moving forward in Bubba's lane. The driver looked up, saw the Hummer hurtling backward toward her. She veered left into the pa.s.sing lane put her hand on the horn, and pa.s.sed Bubba in a blare of indignant noise, middle finger predictably extended so that for a moment neither of her hands were steering.

Bubba flipped his own bird at the rear of the Escort as he hopped out of the Hummer and slammed his hand on the hood.

"It's me."

"What?"

"It's me!" he bellowed. "That piece of s.h.i.t is using me, ain't he?"

"No, he-"

"He can't threaten Angie, 'cause she's connected. So it was me."

"Bubba, he threatened me. Okay?"

He threw back his head and screamed, "Bulls.h.i.t!" at the sky. He dropped his head and came around the car, and for a moment I was pretty sure he was going to pummel me.

"You," he screamed, shoving a finger in my face, "don't back down. You never have, which is why my second f.u.c.king career has been saving your a.s.s."

"Bubba-"

"And I don't mind!" he yelled.

A group of kids turned the corner, saw Bubba in full horror tilt, and made a beeline for the other side of the avenue.

"Don't f.u.c.king lie to me anymore," Bubba said. "Don't. If you or her lie to me, it f.u.c.king hurts. It makes me want to go maim someone. Anyone!" He punched his own chest so hard that if it had belonged to anyone else the sternum would have shattered like crockery. "Stevie threatened me, didn't he?"

"What if he did?"

Bubba wheeled at the air with his huge flailing arms and spittle shot from his mouth. "I'll f.u.c.king kill him. I'll f.u.c.king rip his G.o.dd.a.m.n large intestine out and strangle him with it. I'll squeeze his f.u.c.king head until-"

"No," I said. "Don't you get it?"

"Get what?"

"That's the bind. That's what Wesley wants. This threat didn't come from Stevie, it came from Wesley. That's how the f.u.c.ker works."

Bubba bent, took a long breath. He looked like a hunk of granite about to come gradually to life.

"You lost me," he said eventually.

"I'll bet," I said slowly, "that Wesley knows Angie's connected, knows the only way to get to me is through you. I'm telling you, he gave Stevie the idea to threaten you, knowing that, worst-case scenario, you'd find out, flip out, and get us all killed."

"Huh," he said softly. "This guy's smart."

A blue and white pulled alongside us and the cop riding shotgun rolled down his window.

"Everything okay, gents?" He looked vaguely familiar.

"Fine," I said.

"Hey, you, big fella."

Bubba turned his head, met the cop's gaze with a grimace.

"You're Bubba Rogowski, ain't you?"

Bubba looked off down the avenue.

"Kill anyone lately, Bubba?"

"It's been, like, hours, Officer."

The cop chuckled. "That your Hummer?"