“Write what I say.”

“Yes, sir, Mister Cash.”

The kid was named Johnny Something. Whalen couldn’t be bothered to remember his full name. He was an ant, and Whalen wouldn’t piss on him if he was afire. “I can do it myself, but you need something to do.”

“Yes, Mister Cash.”

Whalen stared at him, his gaze boring into the kid’s until Johnny cleared his throat uncomfortably and looked at his shoes. He had nothing against his slave, but then again, there wasn’t much worth in the skinny little geek. “Sit down, Johnny, and be quick.”

Johnny all but dropped into the neighboring chair, and Whalen leaned away from him, brows furrowed, chin back, a fierce frown on his lips. “Sorry, I forgot,” said the kid as he jumped up and circled to the other side of the table.

“Yeah, you do that a lot, Johnny.” Whalen’s grimace grew uglier, and he used his little trick to make one eyebrow twitch. “You’ll forget one day when I’m in a bad mood, and that’ll be it. You think one more homicide’s going to make any difference to me?”

“No, sir, Mister Cash.”

“Then see you don’t forget again. I told you before: I ain’t no queer.”

“I don’t think that,” said Johnny in a soft tone.

“Better not.”

“Mister Cash, no one thinks that.”

“I ain’t so sure as you, but that don’t matter. Come on, let’s get on with it.”

“Ready when you are. Sir.”

‘Right. Start it out like this: ‘Dear Agent Connelly, you don’t know me.’” Whalen peered across the table at the letter. “Make sure you spell her name right, Johnny.

“C-O-N-N-E-L-L-Y. I remember, Sir.”

“Good. Here’s some more, and you make it fit right, ya hear? ‘You don’t know me, but you might think you do, just because of my record. That’d be a big mistake. I ain’t on the hook for even a third of what I done. You ain’t never seen nobody like me. I’ll stake my hat and my last dollar on it.’” He paused and snapped his fingers over his shoulder.

“Yes, Whalen?” asked a veritable giant of a man.

Whalen half-spun in his chair and smiled up at the impressive black man. “I’d like some coffee to keep my works lubricated, if you’d be so kind, Damon.”

“Ain’t nothing but a thing. Be right back in two shakes.”

When he turned back, Johnny had his head cocked to one side, his eyes narrowed a bit. “Envy is ugly, Johnny,” he said in a flat voice.

Johnny shook his head and dropped his gaze to the letter. “It’s nothing.”

“Naw, it ain’t. Better tell me, son.”

“It’s just that you let everyone else call you Whalen.”

“What? Damon? Don’t fret. I’ve known old Damon since he tried to shank me in the shower my second night in. I visited him every day in the hospital ward once they let me out of the hole. He was mad at me over me having given his uncle lead poisoning back in the day, but I’d earned his respect and he mine. We came over friendly. You and I…we ain’t had that experience or none like it, y’see?”

Johnny said nothing and didn’t raise his gaze, but he nodded his head once. “But we’ve known each other for a lot longer than Damon would have spent in the hospital ward, right? No one spends more than six months in the hospital.”

“Well, you ain’t seen what I did to him. I taught everyone in this here hoosegow that night. Poor old Damon had to be made an example of so’s I could have my peace. You think he came in here walking like that? They couldn’t set his hip in time to avoid him getting that dead spot on his bone.” He leaned across the table and grasped Johnny’s chin between his thick thumb and forefinger, cranking the kid’s head up until Johnny’s meek gaze was devoured by his glacial glare. “You want to call me by name? Fine, but you got to earn it, boy. In my eyes, you ain’t nothing but a bitchy-ass kid. You want my respect? We can arrange for you to earn it.” He held Johnny’s chin locked in place, so the kid could drop only his gaze. “Yeah, that’s like I thought.” He gave the kid’s chin a sharp squeeze, then dropped his hand and leaned back in the chair. “Now, get on with my damn letter afore you give me a headache and I come over cross and nasty.”

“Yessir, Mister Cash.” Johnny hunched forward and pointed his face at the tabletop, grabbing the pen in a white-knuckled grip.

Whalen leaned his head back and narrowed his eyes, glaring at the top of Johnny’s head. “Well, go on, boy,” said Whalen in that curiously flat voice he knew scared Johnny half to death. “Maybe you’ll earn that respect after all.”

Johnny switched his grip on the pen and put the tip of it against the paper.

Whalen Cash twisted his face with a half-snarl, half-one-sided grin. “That’s just about what I thought.”

Johnny—wisely—said nothing more.