Zip Toliver and his bodyguard, Jocko, strolled through the parking garage from his nightclub, The Cat Club, toward his 58 Cadillac Eldorado. He laughed about the new hat check girl and what she’d promised to get the job. He turned to make a quip to Jocko when the boom of a shot echoed between the concrete pillars, shattering Zip’s ears. The bodyguard’s head exploded, spraying Zip with a fine mist of gray brain tissue mixed with blood.

The shooter emerged from the shadows, kicked Zip to his knees, and jammed a silver revolver against his forehead.

Zip swallowed his fear. Be cool, don’t panic. What is this about? He hasn’t asked for my wallet or car keys. Not good. “If you take the gun away from my head, we can talk. I’ll make it worth your while. Whatever someone is paying you, I’ll double it.” Is it the south side Irish or the Italians?

His assailant growled. “It doesn’t work that way.”

The shooter pressed the revolver’s muzzle harder against Zip’s forehead and smiled. “Out of curiosity, what is a life worth?”

“Name your price.” How much this guy will take to let me go?

“What do you think a girl’s life was worth?”

Zip tried to lick the moisture back onto his lips without success. Is that what this is about, a traffic accident? It’s got to be something else. Who did I piss off? This guy sounds more Irish than Italian. “You know it was an accident, right? I didn’t see her in the dark. She shouldn’t have worn dark clothing. She’s as much to blame as me.” Who cares about a dead waitress?

“The price?”

Zip almost shrugged, but caught himself at the last moment. There is no telling how the gunman might have interpreted the gesture. “Twenty grand.”

The gunman snorted.

Zip sucked in a big breath. Now they were negotiating. That was in his wheelhouse. “Forty. That’s the best I can do.”

The shooter remained silent, his face obscured in the dim light of the garage. Without cues, it was difficult for Zip to gauge the right move. He needed to draw him out. “Who’s paying you?” Definitely south-side Irish, an Italian would’ve shot by now.

“I’m waiting.”

Panic fluttered behind Zip’s eyes. He kept the quiver out of his voice but couldn’t stop the trickle of sweat sliding down his face. He licked the salty liquid from his lip and swallowed “Sixty grand. That will buy you a convertible, a house, and set you up wherever you want to go.”

The long pause that followed eased the knots in Zip’s shoulders. He’s thinking about it. The Irish have no sense of honor.

“And?”

Good. Now we’ve established the payment. He is seeing what else he can get out of me. It’s what I would do.

“Anything you want, buddy.” First, I’ll make him tell me who’s behind this now that. I’m back in control of the situation.

“I want my sister’s life back.”

A second shot echoed through the garage.