I, Michael Bennett

“Hired out?” I said, my blood begi

Walrond put a hand on my shoulder.

I shut my mouth. Which wasn’t easy, considering I just wanted answers. I bit my tongue and allowed the detective to do his job.

“Why would they do that, Pops?” Walrond continued.

“Beats me,” Pops said. “All I know is the Bloods ain’t happy because tensions already be ru

Perrine? I thought. Perrine was co

Walrond immediately sensed I was about to jump out of my skin.

“Thanks, Pops,” Walrond said, sending him on his way. “Keep in touch.”

CHAPTER 61

I HAD A lot on my mind by the time Walrond and Groover finally dropped me back at the lake house. Fortunately, Mary had left me di

Who says the effects of globalization are all bad?

After my late-night di

As I scarfed down the sugary garbage, I watched Leno interview a bullying British celebrity chef who really needed a punch in the mouth. I couldn’t stop thinking about what the informant, Pops, had said about Perrine’s involvement with the Latin Kings, and the Latin Kings’ involvement with my kids’ shooting. Was it just street bullshit? His own personal fantasy? The guy did kind of seem like a flake.

It nagged me so much that I found my cell phone and made a call. It was to the DEA SWAT head, Patrick Zaretski, who had been my departed friend Hughie’s mentor in the agency. Ever since Hughie had been killed, Zaretski had been doing nothing but delving into the intricacies of Perrine’s cartel and trying to find all those responsible for his death. If Pops’s story had any truth to it, Patrick would be able to confirm it.

Patrick answered on the fourth ring.

“Hey, Patrick. Mike Be

“I don’t know, Mike,” Patrick said. “But give me an hour and I’ll find out.”

It actually only took half an hour before my phone rang again.

“Mike, you’re spot on. We do have intelligence that the two organizations are working in concert. It started up late last year. Apparently, half the Latin Kings’ heroin and almost all their coke is coming from Perrine’s people. Perrine is also supplying the gang MS-13 and pretty much all the Latin drug trafficking gangs in the entire country. That’s how deeply these Mexican cartels have penetrated into the U.S.

“I hate to ask, Mike, but does this have something to do with your kids?”

We’d mostly kept the boys’ shooting out of the paper, but I’d already told Patrick and a few other law enforcement friends what had happened.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, Patrick,” I said. “I thought it was just a terrible mistake—my kids being in the wrong place at the wrong time—but the informant up here is claiming that the kid who shot Eddie and Brian was hired by the Latin Kings. Could Perrine know that I’m up here on vacation? He targeted my children?”

“Unfortunately, it’s more than possible, Mike,” Patrick said. “You’ve seen the pictures. You know Perrine’s tactics down in Mexico. You think you’d be the first cop he’s personally targeted? He’s a mass murderer, Mike. You put him in a cage. Of course, he’d love to get at you and your loved ones.”

I sat there holding the phone. All around me, my family slept safely in their beds. But for how long? I thought. How the hell could I keep them safe with this monster and his organization on my trail?

CHAPTER 62

MY CELL PHONE rang early the next morning. Before dawn, in fact.

It didn’t really matter, because I was already up with Seamus. I was teaching him how to load and unload the 12-gauge Remington shotgun I’d found behind some canoe oars in the cluttered garage a couple of days before. It killed me to have to teach the kind old man how to lethally defend himself and the rest of the kids. He was a priest, after all.

But what else could I do after my conversation with Patrick Zaretski? It was looking more and more like my family had actually been targeted by Perrine. These were truly desperate times.

It turned out to be Detective Ed Boyanoski on the phone.

“Sorry to call so early, Mike, but we got a witness who just ID’d your boys’ shooter. The county DA gave the go-ahead. We’re about to go grab him, and I thought you’d want to be there.”

“You thought right,” I said.

“We’ll come to you,” Ed said. “Be there in ten.”

That’s when Mary Catherine came into the kitchen. Her eyes just about detached from their sockets when she saw Seamus in his Manhattan College pajamas with the pump-action shotgun.

“What in the name of sweet holy God is going on here?” she wanted to know.

Seamus smiled devilishly.

“Nothing, really,” he said. “Young Michael here was just teaching me the finer rudiments of how to lock and load.”

“Give it here,” Mary Catherine told him.

She took the shotgun from him deftly and quickly thumbed four shells into the underside loading port.

“What model Remington is this? An eight seventy?” she said, blinking a curl of blond hair out of her eyes.

I nodded, blinking back in shock.

She clicked the safety on before pumping a round into the chamber. She swung the shotgun to her shoulder and aimed down the barrel at the wall, nodding to herself. Then she unloaded it, quickly pumping all the rounds out of the receiver onto the kitchen table, catching the last spi

“Where’d you learn all that?” I said, hiding my smile as she handed me back the gun.

“I grew up on a cattle farm, Mike. There wasn’t as much rustling going on in Tipperary as in the Wild West, but we had some. Not at our farm, though.”

“I’ll bet,” I said, and started to laugh. This attractive young woman never failed to shock.

She put her hands on her hips, Wonder Woman–style, which made sense.

“Now, if there’s any locking and loading to be done around here when Mike is at work, I’ll be the one to do it. Agreed, gentlemen?” she said.

“You win, A

Seamus folded his arms, frowning at the both of us.

“Fine. I’m going back to bed,” he said after another half a minute.