Live by Night Page 0,49

do."

"Pretend I don't and answer the question."

Joe took a long, slow breath. "Brendan Loomis."

"What about him?"

"He's in custody. He gets arraigned day after tomorrow."

Emil Lawson laced his hands behind his head and smiled. "And your daddy was supposed to kill him but he said no."

"Yeah."

"No, he said yes."

"He said no."

Emil Lawson shook his head. "You're going to tell the first Pescatore hood you see that your father got word back to you through a guard. He'll take care of Brenny Loomis. He also found out where Albert White's been sleeping at night. And you've got the address to give to Old Man Pescatore. But only face-to-face. You following me so far, pretty boy?"

Joe nodded.

Emil Lawson handed Joe something wrapped in oilcloth. Joe unwrapped it - another shank, almost as thin as a needle. It had been a screwdriver at one point, the kind people used on the hinges of their eyeglasses. But those weren't sharp like this. The tip was like a rose thorn. Joe ran his palm over it lightly and cut a path there.

They removed the shanks from his ears and throat.

Emil leaned in close. "When you get close enough to whisper that address in Pescatore's ear, you drive that shank right through his fucking brain." He shrugged. "Or his throat. Whatever kills him."

"I thought you worked for him," Joe said.

"I work for me." Emil Lawson shook his head. "I did some jobs for his crew when I was paid to. Now someone else is paying."

"Albert White," Joe said.

"That's my boss." Emil Lawson leaned forward and lightly slapped Joe's cheek. "And now he's your boss too."

In the small spit of land behind his house on K Street, Thomas Coughlin kept a garden. His efforts with it had, over the years, met with varying degrees of success and failure, but in the two years since Ellen had passed on, he'd had nothing but time; now the bounty of it was such that he made a small profit every year when he sold the surplus.

Years ago, when he was five or six, Joe had decided to help his father harvest in early July. Thomas has been sleeping off a double shift and the several nightcaps he'd consumed with Eddie McKenna afterward. He woke to the sound of his son talking in the backyard. Joe had talked to himself a lot back then, or maybe he spoke to an imagined friend. Either way, he'd had to talk to somebody, Thomas could admit to himself now, because he certainly wasn't being spoken to much around the house. Thomas worked too much, and Ellen, well, by that point Ellen had firmly established her fondness for Tincture No. 23, a cure-all first introduced to her after one of the miscarriages that had preceded Joe's birth. Back then, No. 23 wasn't yet the problem it would become for Ellen, or so Thomas had told himself. But he must have second-guessed that assessment more than he liked to admit because he'd known without asking that Joe was unattended that morning. He lay in bed listening to his youngest jabbering to himself as he tramped back and forth to the porch, and Thomas started to wonder what he tramped back and forth from.

He rose from bed and put on a robe and found his slippers. He walked through the kitchen (where Ellen, dull-eyed but smiling, sat with her cup of tea) and pushed open the back door.

When he saw the porch, his first instinct was to scream. Literally. To drop to his knees and rage at the heavens. His carrots and parsnips and tomatoes - all still green as grass - lay on the porch, their roots splayed like hair across the dirt and wood. Joe came walking up from the garden with another crop in his hands - the beets, this time. He'd transformed into a mole, his skin and hair caked with dirt. The only white left on him could be found in his eyes and his teeth when he smiled, which he did as soon as he saw Thomas.

"Hi, Daddy."

Thomas was speechless.

"I'm helping you, Daddy." Joe placed a beet at Thomas's feet and went back for more.

Thomas, a year's work ruined, an autumn's profit vanished, watched his son march off to finish the destruction, and the laugh that quaked up through the center of him surprised no one so much as him. He laughed so loud squirrels took flight from the low branches of the nearest tree. He laughed so hard he could feel