“I been arrested a couple times in the past few years,” Devon said. He sounded skeptical. “And the shit I was caught with ain’t cheap.”

Finn shook his head. “Bail isn’t what I’d be worried about. The problem is what happens after bail. Your case sucks.”

“No shit. That’s why I need a fuckin’ miracle worker.”

“Even miracle workers hate to lose cases, Devon. Unless you’ve got something to give to the DA to get him to make a decent plea offer, you’re screwed. You really think you can get some sort of helpful information once you’re out after the arraignment? Something we might be able to trade?”

“Maybe. When’s the arraignment?”

Finn scratched his chin. He hadn’t shaved that morning and a dark patch of stubble covered his face. “Don’t know yet, it hasn’t been scheduled. You were picked up on Sunday, and today is Patriots’ Day, so the courts are closed. They’ll put you on a schedule when they get in tomorrow, but given the three-day weekend and the inevitable backlog, I wouldn’t expect you to be seen anytime before Wednesday.”

Devon shook his head. “No good. The longer I stay in here, the colder the fuckin’ rat’s trail gets. You want me to get you something to use with the DA, you gotta spring me sooner.”

“You may be putting too much stock in the ‘miracle worker’ reputation I have. There’s no way I can change the court’s schedule.”

“No, I guess not,” Devon said. He looked down at the floor as he tapped his feet anxiously. Then he looked up at Finn. “How ’bout if you was to move things on the outside?” he asked. “You know, poke around, see what you can find out?”

“I don’t do windows,” Finn replied.

“C’mon,” Devon pleaded. “I’m not askin’ for much. Just ask a few fuckin’ questions. Otherwise, we may never find out who tipped off the cops.”