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guys like this. And test my ability to keep secrets.”
“Did you hire him?”
“I don’t remember exactly. We had a lot of interviews. But my gut says no.”
“Glad you didn’t,” Weller said.
“Why’s that?’
Weller shrugged. “You guys may have fought to a tie. I’ll look into it, talk to some of my CIA pals. Who was the guy you were with tonight? Did you bring back-up?”
Callahan shoved his hands in his pockets. “Who are you talking about?”
“The guy all over the news. Someone got his picture on a cell phone. They’re pasting it all over the place. The news, the internet. They say he’s responsible for all the deaths. Nice move, deflecting the attention.”
Callahan squeezed his hands into fists, inside his pockets. He’d sent John right to the police.

 
The cell phone rang as Christine Verderese slipped the cookie tray into the stove. After taking off the oven mitts, she picked it up. Her Uncle Tony was on the other end of the line, and that meant only one thing.
A job.
Her last job was three months ago, and she was starting to get antsy. Since then she’d had to work small jobs, waitress in a coffee shop, collections for her uncle, even signed up with a Temp Agency. It was like leaving the business. Her uncle told her to keep the faith, and she’d be needed again. But at this point, she felt like she was living a normal life.
And she did not want that.
But now the phone was ringing, and she felt the fire in her veins.
“I need you,” her uncle Tony said.
“It’s about time. What’s the job?”
“Come over and make me meatballs. I’m hungry.”
“You better be joking.”
A rustle of paper on the other end of the line. Her uncle coughed as if he was suppressing a laugh.
“Since Donte took over, things have been tough. You know that. Fucker has not given me any work. And the jobs I’ve sent you on haven’t done much to slow him down.”
Since Donte Maiore took over. Since the Feds started taking people down for breathing near an OTB. Her uncle’s business was not in good shape.
“So, he finally called you?”
“No, this is something else.”
Christine’s hands went numb. Something else? What, driving some greaseball to the airport? Babysitting?
“You might get to see your sister in the process,” Tony said.
The thick scent of smoke filled her nostrils. Her cookies were burning. Just like the first Christmas after mom died, when her uncle tried to make it seem traditional. When he sent the maid home and tried to bake sugar cookies, and forgot about them. Her mother never baked sugar cookies. They were always chocolate chip. And they never burned.
“What’s the job?” Christine said again, the words coming from her mouth full of spittle.
“Is this line secure?”
“Of course. You don’t trust me?”
“You’re going to find Peter Callahan and Ashley MacDonald. You’re going to do what you do. Get rid of Ashley, no sign. Callahan, you bring him to me. Alive.”
Christine switched the phone from her left ear to her right. She looked into the kitchen and watched the smoke seep out from the oven door.
“Ashley’s not my sister. I don’t know who that is,” she said. Her uncle never did get to meet that “side” of the family. Maybe he was confused.
“I know that,” Tony said. “I’m no dummy. Trust me. I’m calling you because you’re the best at what you do. Get this done and we’ll be back on top.”
“Okay,” Christine said, exhaling through her nose.
“You watch the news tonight?”
“I had it on,” Christine said.
“The Callahan guy, he was involved in that shooting down in Jersey City.”
“Was that him? The picture they had?”
“No, I’ll email you his picture. Be careful, he’s good. He took out five mercenaries. And no old ladies. Good aim.” Tony laughed again.
He rattled off two addresses for the targets. She jotted them down, and then the five figure amount she’d be paid to do the job. She told Uncle Tony she’d report back soon.
“I really