Page 91 of Hard to Kill

McKenzie makes a sound as if Jimmy has just hit him with a body blow.

“Did Licata come to you originally, or did you go to him?”

“You really don’t know?”

“More like I’m filling in some blanks.”

“I had a friend, from my world, who had availed himself of Anthony’s services for a rather delicate situation. When I found myself in a not dissimilar situation, my friend made the recommendation. Sort of like a headhunter in the realm of shit happening.”

“And what kind of delicate situation was it, exactly?”

McKenzie’s face reddens, just like that. “My son couldn’t keep it in his pants, that’s what the situation was!” McKenzie is spitting out the words. “And he sure as fuck didn’t ever seem to understand the word ‘no’ as far as I could ever tell.”

“He says he didn’t rape that girl,” Jimmy says. “That Rob Jacobson set him up.”

“It no longer matters whether he did rape her or didn’t,” Mc-Kenzie says. “It eventually went away for everybody involved, once Licata and his friend Joe Champi realized they were essentially pulling on the same rope.”

McKenzie leans forward over his desk. “You spoke of Page Six to my assistant. Well, I was going to be good and goddamned if my name was going to be in bold type next to my son’s while I was trying to build this fund. So I did what I had to do.”

“Robinson Jacobson was the friend who recommended Licata to you?”

McKenzie nods. “Not that their association did Robinson any good in the end, when he was the one who couldn’t keep his inhispants.”

Jimmy watches what looks like a private plane banking toward Jersey, probably coming in for a landing at Teterboro. McKenzie probably keeps his own plane there.

“Did Licata ever mention what he thought might have happened the day Robinson Jacobson Jr. and that young girl died?”

“He didn’t offer an opinion and I didn’t ask for one,”McKenzie says. “He had his own problems with a son who couldn’t keep it inhispants. And maybe in the end, I didn’t want to know what I didn’t want to know about my own son.”

“You happen to know where I might find your son these days?” Jimmy asks.

Thomas McKenzie stands and offers Jimmy a smile that looks like two razor blades pressed together.

“The gutter is always a good place to start.”

SEVENTY-THREE

Jimmy

JIMMY IS OUT OF Thomas McKenzie’s office downtown by noon, and out east a little after four o’clock, having stopped to pick up Jane before heading over to Rob Jacobson’s rental house.

“I could’ve handled this myself,” Jimmy says as he pulls into Jacobson’s driveway.

“Just think of me as being here for quality control,” Jane says.

“Heavy on the control, I gather.”

“What was your first clue?” Jane asks.

When Jacobson opens the door, he’s smiling as if Jimmy and Jane are the first to arrive at the party.

“Look at us!” he says. “The band is back together!”

Jimmy steps past Jane and shoves Jacobson hard, two hands to the chest, knocking him back toward the living room and nearly on his ass.

“Jimmy,” Jane says quietly. “You promised.”

“I lied.”

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