The Betrayers by James Patrick Hunt Page A

characteristic, satisfying thunk that justifies the cost of the vehicle. He felt the chill of night air, coming off the lake and cutting through the open space of the high-rise garage.
    â€œHello, Max.”
    Max felt his stomach jump involuntarily. He turned to see Regan standing behind him. A big man, standing in the space between the Mercedes and a Ford van parked next to it. Blocking that space.
    Max tried to swallow away the quivering of his chin. He said, “Hey … do I know you?”
    Regan said, “We met before. At McNamara’s. Don’t you remember?”

    â€œUh … I don’t know.”
    â€œJimmy Rizza introduced us. You remember him, don’t you?”
    â€œUh, Jimmy—”
    â€œRizza,” Regan said, staring the man into recollection. He wasn’t going anywhere.
    â€œOh, yeah,” Max said. He spoke as if they were at a party, as opposed to a garage ledge eighteen floors up. He forced a smile on his face. “Yeah, I remember now. How you doing?”
    Regan didn’t answer. He didn’t smile either. He said, “You remember what we talked about?”
    â€œUh, no. No I don’t.”
    â€œI do. Actually, I didn’t say much then. But you and Jimmy, you talked about burning down a nightclub. A nightclub you and Stan owned.” Regan said, “You remember that?”
    Max was silent for a few moments.
    Regan said it again. “I remember it.”
    â€œHey,” Max said.
    Regan walked in between the vehicles, closing in now, and Max stepped back, looking over his shoulder as he did so, into the void.
    Regan said, “You kept in touch with Jimmy after that. Didn’t you?”
    â€œNo, I did not. I never saw him again.”
    â€œAh, Max. That’s not what I heard.”
    â€œWell, I don’t know what you heard, but—”
    â€œYou were losing money in another venture of yours. Another business. And one of your partners talked about reporting you to the SEC.” Regan said, “And that fellah disappeared, didn’t he?”
    â€œI don’t—”
    â€œConvenient for you, huh?”
    â€œI don’t know what happened to him.”
    Regan said, “ You happened to him, Max. You and Jimmy Rizza. You paid Jimmy to clip him.”
    â€œWhat are you, a cop? There’s no proof …”

    â€œI’m not a cop, Max. I’m not interested in proof.”
    Max Collins should have known better then. He had dipped his toe into the criminal underworld, enjoyed associating with the bad boys, had taken a certain pride in it. So he should have known something about them. But he remained a man unaware of his own lack of awareness. Had it been otherwise, he would not have asked Jack Regan this next thing.
    Max Collins said, “Hey man, are you wearing a wire?”
    Regan stepped forward, quickly, and grabbed Max by the lapels of his camel’s hair overcoat, pushing him off balance so that he stumbled and then Max’s upper body was out and over the edge of the precipice, feeling the pull of gravity on his shoulders. All Regan would have to do was drop him …
    Regan said, “You ever even suggest I’m a rat again, I’ll kill you. Last warning. Understand?”
    â€œYes, yes,” Max cried. “I understand. Jesus, please.”
    â€œI don’t wear wires for nobody. I handle things me own self. Understand?”
    â€œYes, yes—”
    â€œWhere’s Jimmy?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWhere is Jimmy?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    Regan relaxed his hold.
    â€œJesus! I don’t know. He disappeared.”
    â€œI know he disappeared, you fucking idiot. But he kept in touch with you. Don’t tell me he didn’t because I know he did.”
    â€œHe—”
    â€œYou know how I know, Max? You know why you’re still alive now? Because I understand Jimmy. When a man like Jimmy does a man like you a