Karch leaned back in the chair and looked over Renfro as if appraising him.
"You Outfit guys think you're so untouchable."
"I'm not with the Outfit, but fuck you anyway."
Karch nodded as if amused by Renfro's protestations.
"Let me tell you a story about the Outfit. Long time ago in Las Vegas there was this magician. He'd been around a long time, worked all the casinos, never really caught on. Always the warm-up, never the headliner. Raisin' a son by himself on the side. Anyway, he had a gig in the Clown Room lounge at Circus, Circus. No big deal. Just a table act for chump change – tips mostly. And so one night he's dealing three-card monte to a table of these three guys and they keep telling him to do it again. You know, 'Do it again and I'll get it this time.' Only they never got it. They never picked the ace. And it went on and on and it got one of them hotter and hotter. Like he thought this magician was personally makin' a fool of him or something. So skip to the end of the night. The magician punches out and is in the back garage walking to his car. And guess who's waitin' for him but those same three guys from the bar."
Karch paused but not for effect. The story always got to him at this point. Every time he thought about it or told it, the anger seemed to boil up in his throat like acid.
"And one of them, the boss of these three guys, had a hammer. They didn't say a word. They just grabbed the magician and bent him over the hood of his car. One of them used his tie to gag him. Then one by one the man with the hammer broke every one of the magician's knuckles. At some point he passed out and when they were done they just left him lying on the concrete next to his car. He never worked as a magician again. Couldn't even palm a quarter anymore. Every time he tried, it just dropped on the floor. I used to sit in my bedroom and hear him trying gags in the other room. I'd hear that quarter fall on that wood floor over and over again…
"He drove a cab for a living after that. Cancer finally killed him but he was dead long before that."
Karch looked at Renfro.
"You know who the man with the hammer was?"
Renfro shook his head.
"That was Joey Marks. The Outfit's man in Vegas."
"Joey Marks is dead," Renfro said. "And like I said, I don't work for the Outfit or anybody else."
Karch stood up and came around the desk.
"I came for the money," he said quietly. "You stole from the wrong people and I've come to set it straight. I don't care if you're with Chicago or not. I'm not leaving here without the money."
"What money? I sell passports. I invest in champagne. I don't steal money from people."
"Listen to me, Leo. Your spotter's dead. So is your cameraman. You don't want to be like them, do you? So where's the money? Where's Cassie Black?"
Renfro turned so he was facing Karch and his back was to the sliding door. Behind him the pool glowed brightly in the dark. He lowered his chin as if looking inward and coming to a decision. He then nodded slightly to himself and looked back at Karch.
"Fuck you."
Karch shook his head.
"No, Leo, this time it's fuck you."
He lowered the barrel of the gun and calmly fired. The bullet blew out Renfro's left knee. It passed cleanly through the bone and tissue, hit the tile floor behind him and bounced up into the sliding glass door. The door shattered into large jagged pieces of glass that crashed down onto the floor and shattered again. Renfro dropped to the floor and grabbed his knee with both hands. His face was a mask of agony.
The breaking glass was more noise than Karch had planned on making. The door was shattered except for one large jagged piece of glass held in the bottom of the frame. He figured the house must have been built before safety glass was required. He looked out into the yard and hoped the freeway noise had covered the sound.
Renfro started gasping and moaning as he rolled over the glass, cutting himself on his arms and back. The floor was quickly