Finn thought about it. He hated the idea of getting his hands dirty; he’d given up that kind of work. “I charge by the hour,” he said. “You’re not going to want to pay as much as it would cost.”

“I may not want to pay it, but I will,” Devon said. “I’m desperate, and payin’ you beats the shit out of going to jail. Besides, don’t you have some sort of private investigator you could use?”

“Sort of,” Finn admitted. “But he’s an ex-cop. He’s not the kind of guy someone like Vinny Murphy is gonna want to talk to.”

“Take him anyway. You want someone ridin’ shotgun. Guys like Vinny don’t fuckin’ play. They’re serious people.”

Finn considered the suggestion some more. “It’s gonna cost you a boatload of money, y’know? Not a little-a lot.”

“I know. I’ll pay it,” Devon replied simply. “I need this.”

Finn shot Devon a look. “And you really can pay my fees?”

“I swear to fuckin’ God, Finn. The second you get me out, I’ll pay you cash for what you done so far. Plus a fat fuckin’ retainer for the rest. I swear it, on my mother’s fuckin’ grave.”

“Your mother passed?”

“Not yet, but she’s got the cancer. Any day. Shit, Finn, I just need your help.”

Finn rubbed his hand over his stubble again. “I’ve got to talk to the others in the firm. If you’re really willing to pay, we’ll think about doing some poking around. Don’t get your hopes up too high, though. I don’t know whether my people are gonna want to take this on, and even if we do end up taking the case, I can’t imagine we’re gonna get too far.”

“You’re a good shit, Finn,” Devon said thoughtfully. “A really good shit.”

Finn sat up straight in his chair. He caught a calculating tone in Devon ’s voice. “What is it?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Devon. There’s something else.”

“Don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”