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hit-and-run right in front of the row house while he was riding his bike in the street just after dark. Right about this time of the evening. Marconi had rushed outside when he heard yelling and cradled the battered little boy in his arms until he died. The ambulance had screamed to a stop at the scene a few seconds later, but there was nothing the EMTs could do. Nothing Marconi could do, either. All he'd been left with was revenge.
    "What was the guy's name?" Johnny asked. "The guy who did that thing?"
    "Kyle McLean."
    "Yeah, right, Kyle McLean. Well, I thought that had been taken care of." Johnny was certain he'd heard McLean was dead. Certain he'd heard that McLean had died in a car accident the next night. Figured the real story was that some of Marconi's men had taken McLean out and made it look like an accident. "I thought it had kinda taken care of itself."
    Marconi shook his head. "Turns out it hasn't. At least there's a chance it hasn't. A good chance." He pointed at Johnny. "I want you to find out for sure. And if it hasn't, take care of it for me once and for all. Make sure McLean gets what's coming. I'll pay you a million bucks for this one thing, Deuce. You'll do it as a personal favor to me." So this wasn't something that had been sanctioned by the council--which all killings related to family business had to be. This job was outside that. A job Johnny had to do out of respect for the man who'd made him a millionaire. Even more important, a man who'd picked him up when he was on his ass and helped him climb out of the depths of despair. A job that would be ten times harder to refuse than any family contract.
    "I know you want your marks to deserve what they got coming," Marconi said evenly. "I know about the research you do," he continued, "and the judgments you make in each case. I know about your code of honor."
    Johnny pursed his lips. He'd never had any idea Marconi was aware of all that. Now he understood why the man was so powerful, what set him apart from the other wiseguys. He saw all the things they did--and all the things they didn't.
    "Johnny."
    Johnny's eyes rose slowly to Marconi's. He couldn't remember the last time the old man had called him anything but Deuce. "Yes, sir?" And he couldn't remember the last time he'd called Marconi sir.
    "I just want you doing what I say. I just want you to kill Kyle McLean. You got that?" Johnny had been told from the beginning that sooner or later this moment would come. A moment when he'd have to compromise his code of honor. When he would have no choice. But he'd always believed he could keep the relationship on his terms. Always felt like he'd be able to make the ultimate decision. Now he realized how naive he'd been. The people who'd warned him were exactly right. Everything would always be on Angelo Marconi's terms.
    "Yeah," he finally said, his voice barely audible, "I got it." Marconi hesitated a few moments, then nodded. "Good man."
    "You got somewhere for me to start?" Suddenly Johnny felt like he couldn't get out of here fast enough. "Some way for me to pick up the trail?"
    "Yeah. There's an ex-cop named Stephen Casey, who I hear may have some information on McLean. It won't be easy to get it out of him, but you're good at that. Getting dirt out of people." Marconi snickered. "You know, you're good at putting people in the dirt, too. Funny how that goes, huh?"
    "Uh-huh." It wasn't funny at all.
    Marconi reached into his pocket and handed Johnny a crinkled piece of lined yellow paper. "That's Casey's address down in Brooklyn. I want to hear back from you by tomorrow noon. No later than that, and the earlier the better." Stephen Casey might be on vacation, might be staying at a girlfriend's house, might be working the graveyard shift at whatever job he was doing now that he'd quit the NYPD. But none of those things mattered to Marconi, not in the slightest. The old man had achieved a position in life few men did but all aspired to. He didn't accept excuses