Sacred by Dennis Lehane Page A

where they were, watching the entrances.
    “I liked that shit you pulled with the cop last night,” Manny said. “That was good. ‘Manny, you sure you’ll take him to the hospital?’” He chuckled. “Christ. You’re very quick on your feet.”
    “Thanks, Manny. Means so much coming from you.”
    He turned to Angie. “And you, going right for those diskettes like you knew where they’d be all along.”
    “I had no choice.”
    “How’s that?”
    “Because I was trapped in the back office by the laser light show you had in the main office.”
    “Right.” He nodded his huge head. “I initially thought you’d been hired by the competition.”
    “You have competition?” Angie said. “In grief therapy?”
    He smiled at her. “But then John told me you were looking for Desiree Stone, and then I discovered youcouldn’t even get past the computer password, so I realized it was just dumb luck.”
    “Dumb luck,” Angie said.
    He patted her knee. “Who has the discs?”
    “I do,” I said.
    He held out his hand.
    I placed them on his palm and he tossed them to John. John placed them in an attaché case and snapped it shut.
    “What about my bank account, credit cards, all that?” I said.
    “Well,” Manny said, “I thought of killing you.”
    “You and these three guys?” Angie laughed.
    He looked at her. “That’s amusing?”
    “Look at your crotch, Manny,” I said.
    He looked down, saw Angie’s gun there, the muzzle a tenth of an inch from Manny’s family jewels.
    “That,” Angie said, “is amusing.”
    He laughed and she laughed too, holding his eyes, the gun never wavering.
    “God,” he said, “I like you, Miss Gennaro.”
    “God,” she said, “the feeling definitely ain’t mutual, Manny.”
    He turned his head, looked toward the bronze plaques and the great stone wall across from him. “So, okay, nobody gets killed today. But, Mr. Kenzie, I’m afraid you bought yourself seven years of bad luck. Your credit is gone. Your money is gone. And it isn’t coming back. Myself and some associates decided you needed to be taught a lesson in power.”
    “Obviously I have, or you wouldn’t have those discs.”
    “Ah, but, while the lesson is over, I need to be sure it sinks in. So, no, Mr. Kenzie, you’re back to square one. You have my promise we’ll leave you alone fromthis point, but the damage that’s been done will remain that way.”
    On Unity Street, the garbagemen were tossing the metal cans back to the sidewalk from a height of over four feet and a van that had come up behind them was blaring its horn and some old lady was screaming from her window at everyone in Italian. All in all, it wasn’t helping my hangover.
    “So that’s it?” I thought of the ten years of saving, the four credit cards in my wallet I’d never be able to use again, the hundreds upon hundreds of shitty cases—big and small—which I’d labored through. All for nothing. I was poor again.
    “That’s it.” Manny stood up. “Be careful who you fuck with, Kenzie. You know nothing about us, and we know everything about you. That makes us dangerous and you predictable.”
    “Thanks for the lesson,” I said.
    He stood over Angie until she looked up at him. Her gun was still in her hands, but pointing at the ground.
    “Maybe until Mr. Kenzie can afford to take you to dinner again, I can pick up some of his slack. What do you say?”
    “I’d say pick up a copy of Penthouse on your way home, Manny, and say hello to your right hand.”
    “I’m a lefty.” He smiled.
    “I don’t care,” she said and John laughed.
    Manny shrugged, and for a moment looked like he was considering a retort, but instead he spun on his heel without another word and walked toward Unity Street. John and the other two men followed. At the entrance, Manny stopped and turned back to us, his massive physique framed by the blue and gray of the idling garbage truck.
    “See you around, kids.” He waved.
    And we waved back.
    And