“Jesus Christ,” Will said. “What’re you, fourteen?”

“I said enough.” Jack pulled up the sleeve of his suit, glanced at his watch. They sat in silence, listening to the ticking of the engine, the sound of revelry through the windows. River North, clubland, lah-dee-fucking-dah.

“He look short to you?” Bobby not needing to say the name.

“They all are,” Will said. “Tom Cruise is five-seven. Al Pacino, too.”

“Pacino? Bullshit.”

“Emilio Estevez. Robert Downey Jr.”

“I like that guy,” Bobby said. “He’s a great actor.”

“Don’t change his height.”

Jack let them talk, taking steady breaths, waiting for the rush to hit.

“Funny,” Bobby said, “it’s like the pope is visiting. All week I been hearing where he was spotted. Saw an article in the Red Eye on his favorite restaurants. He’s just here to work, right? Film a movie. But where he eats is news. Kind’ve feel sorry for him.”

“Yeah,” Will said, “poor famous millionaire, neck-deep in pussy makes the skanks you date look like schnauzers.”

“Will,” Jack said, “go stand on the corner, scope for cops, would you?”

“What the hell? Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Will sighed. “Whatever.” He popped the door, the street noise suddenly louder. “Amateur,” he muttered as he got out.

“Screw you.” Bobby said it quietly.

They sat, Jack letting the tension dissipate. He cracked gloved knuckles. After a minute, he said, “You okay?”

Bobby looked over, face pale and eyes all pupil. “I can’t do this.”

“Sure you can. Easiest thing in the world.”

“Jack-”

“You can.” He smiled. “Look, I know where you are. First time I stuck somebody up, I had the shakes like you wouldn’t believe. Almost dropped my gun.”

“Serious? You?”

“Sure. Part of the job. Why do you think Will’s being such a dick? Everybody gets the shakes.”

“ Marshall too?”