Jardine looks at Cassie. “You come by it honestly.”
“Jardine,” John says. “Is that French? Are you sure you don’t want to surrender to me?”
“You won’t be laughing doing thirty to life.”
“I won’t live another ten years,” John says. “The joke’s on you.”
“It might be time to remain silent now, John,” Bernie says.
“Are you Bernard Hughes?” Jardine asks. “There’s no warrant on you. Yet.”
“I’ll go straight to the lawyers,” Bernie tells John. “We’ll have you out for midnight mass tonight. Agent Jardine, why are these other two people in cuffs? Surely you don’t have warrants for them.”
“Resisting arrest,” Jardine says. “Obstruction of a federal agent in the performance of his duties. Whatever else I can think of.”
“Pure harassment,” Bernie says. “Kindly release them.”
Jardine gives the nod.
The cop takes the cuffs off Bobby, then off Cassie. She shakes her hands out, her wrists already going numb. It’s the heroin, she thinks, her worst premonition coming true. As if to validate it, she hears a shout from the back room. “Jackpot!”
An agent comes out holding two bricks of heroin. “There are ten more in the basement.”
Jardine smiles at John. “Now we’ll take your bar, too.”
Cassie watches her father being walked out the door in cuffs. She follows him out. The news trucks are already out there, which means Jardine tipped them in advance. The agents push his head down as they put him in the back seat of a cruiser.
He looks collapsed, she thinks.
Like an old coat left out in the rain.
It breaks her heart.
Danny sits in a chair in Terri’s room. At some point during the endless night he drifts off and dreams about Pat.
“Get out of here, Danny,” Pat says. “Take your family and go.”
“Terri’s dying.”
“I know,” Pat says. “I’ll take care of her when she gets here, don’t worry.”
“Thanks, Pat.”
But Pat doesn’t look like he could take care of anybody. Half his face is scraped off; his skin is black and scorched from the exhaust fumes of Sal’s car. He looks tired, haggard, like maybe they don’t sleep in heaven. If that’s where Pat is. Maybe he’s in hell.
“Danny.”
He wakes with a start. Jimmy Mac’s hand is on his shoulder. “We gotta get out of here. They hit us.”
It’s part of his dream. Danny asks, “They hit us? Who hit us? Who hit what?”
“The feds hit the Gloc.”
Danny’s groggy.
“Danny, wake up!” Jimmy says. “The feds are all over Dogtown with warrants. I don’t know how many guys they got already. You have to move, Danny. Now.”
“I can’t leave Terri.”
Jimmy looks over at Terri. “There’s nothing you can do for her.”
“I can stay with her.”
“She doesn’t know who you are.”
“But I know who she is.”
Jimmy grabs him by the shoulders. “Danny, you have a kid. What’s Ian gonna do with no mother or father?”
“We don’t know that there’s a warrant on me.”
“We don’t know that there’s not,” Jimmy says. “Christ, Danny, they could have guys waiting in the parking lot, the motherfuckers.”
Jimmy tells him what happened. There are feds everywhere with their goddamn blue ball caps with all the letters on them—fbi, dea—marshals, too. They took John, he doesn’t know yet about Liam.
“Kevin?” Danny asks. “Sean?”
Jimmy hasn’t seen them.
“What about Ned?”
“He’s in the lobby, he won’t move.”
Danny gets on the phone, pulls it over to the wall so Terri can’t hear, then realizes that she can’t hear much of anything. Thank God, he reaches Bernie Hughes at home. “What do you know?”
“It’s bad,” Bernie says. “I’ve tried getting through to our city cops . . . detectives, narcotics squad, uniforms—no one is taking my calls. State troopers, same thing. It’s a federal operation and all our usual connections are laying low.”
“Get the fuck out of there, Bernie.”
Because Dogtown is naked, Danny thinks. No protection out there. Our guys are either in jail or running.
A great time for the Morettis to strike.