Among Thieves

Ballick was sitting in a cheap aluminum folding chair at the corner of the building, watching the activity on the pier closely, when Fi

“Eddie Ballick,” Fi

Ballick turned his head; the rest of his body remained still. He said nothing.

“I’m Scott Fi

Ballick looked past Fi

“Sorry,” Fi

“I know who he is,” Ballick said. “He’s a cop.”

“He’s no longer with the department,” Fi

“He’s still a cop,” Ballick said. “Now he’s just a cop without a badge.”

Ballick’s head turned back toward the pier. “I only got a few minutes. I’m busy.” He shifted in his seat and brought his hands together on his lap. Fi

“I didn’t know whether you would,” Fi

“Looks like the other side is working out for you.”

“I suppose.”

“Fuckin’ shame.”

Fi

“And now you want to talk to me about Devon Malley.”

“It would be helpful.”

Ballick frowned. Then he got to his feet slowly. “We’ll talk inside,” he said. “Cop stays out here.”

Fi

“Upstairs,” Ballick said, nodding toward a rickety plywood staircase in the corner. “Mikey,” he called to one of the men bent over the bloody sink. The man stood and looked over his shoulder. Fi

The upstairs was only marginally less retch-inducing. The walls were open to the studs, and Fi

“Nice office,” Fi

“Not what you’re used to, Counselor?”

“Actually, my office isn’t much bigger. Better ventilated, maybe.”

“With all the money you must be making these days?”

“I make a lot less than you do. Appearances notwithstanding.”

Ballick sat down behind the desk and slid open one of the bottom drawers, pulling out a thermos. He took the cup-shaped top off and turned it upside down on the desktop, then unscrewed the cap and poured out some of the contents. A thin wisp of steam wafted up. “I’ve never given much of a fuck about appearances,” Ballick said as he lifted the cup to his lips.

Fi

“So?” Ballick said. “You said you wanted to talk. Talk.”

Kozlowski was leaning against the side of the building, close to the doorway so that he might hear it if things got loud upstairs. He’d have felt much better if he could have seen Fi

The door opened and a man stepped outside. He was in his late twenties, a little taller than Kozlowski, with a shaved head and a goatee. An apron hung from his shoulders, covered in blood and fish guts, and his T-shirt, presumably once white, was splotched with yellow and gray. The arms that protruded from the sleeves were covered in green-black prison tattoos; cables of muscle and treads of veins shifted as he moved.

He paused as he adjusted to the light, his hand to his eyes, looking for something. Then he turned in Kozlowski’s direction. It took a moment for the recognition to flash in the man’s eyes, but once it did, it morphed instantly to hatred.

“Muthafucka,” he said. He was only a few feet from Kozlowski.

“Mikey Sullivan,” Kozlowski said. He nodded to the man. “How you been?”

“Fuck you care, Kozlowski?” the man said.

“C’mon, Mikey. I care. It makes me feel good when I know that the people I put away have been rehabilitated. Nice to see you got yourself a real job. Can’t say too much for your employer, but hell, I guess you gotta take what you can get. You just gut fish for Ballick, or you gut other things, too?”

The man took a half-step back, his hand going to the pocket at the front of his apron. “You ain’t on the job no more, from what I hear.”

“True.”

“So, what the fuck are you doin’ here, Kozlowski?”

“Maybe I’m just checking up on you. Maybe this is how I like to spend my days.”

“Maybe you made a mistake. Maybe you ain’t so fuckin’ tough without a badge.”

“Maybe,” Kozlowski said. He took his weight off the side of the building and secured his footing. He had a good idea what was coming.

“Maybe we’ll see,” the man said. He drew his hand out of the apron pocket, and Kozlowski could see the knife. It was long and thin and covered with blood. Then Sullivan lunged.

“ Devon ’s in a difficult spot,” Fi

“Yeah, so?” Ballick replied. “Fuck’s it got to do with me? Fuck’s it got to do with you, for that matter?”

“He’s my client,” Fi

“Hypothetically speaking?”

“Yeah.” Fi

“What kind of information?”

“Information about who was involved in setting up the robbery at Gilberacci’s. Devon says there was inside involvement-that Joh

“Don’t know shit about it.”

“I understand,” Fi

“Okay, let’s say that.”

“If I had some way of confirming it, I’d have something to trade to the DA to cut a deal for Devon. You see what I’m saying?”

“No.”

Fi