He’s sound asleep when the door comes in.
Hands push his face against the wall.
More hands take his weapons.
His arms are twisted behind him, his wrists cuffed.
“You’re under arrest,” O’Dell says. “Malfeasance of duty, bribery, extortion, obstruction of justice—”
He’s confused, disoriented. “You got this wrong, O’Dell! Talk to Paz.”
“She’s not in charge anymore,” O’Dell says. “In fact, she’s under indictment. So is Anderson. It was a nice play, Malone. Nice try. You’re also under arrest for possession of narcotics with intent to sell, conspiracy to sell and/or distribute narcotics, and armed robbery.”
“The fuck you talking about?” Malone asks.
O’Dell grabs him and turns him around.
“Savino turned himself in, Denny,” O’Dell says. “He flipped. He told us all about Pena, about the smack you ripped and sold to him.”
“I want a lawyer,” Malone says.
“We’ll even call him for you,” O’Dell says. “What’s his name?”
“Gerard Berger,” Malone says.
Maybe there is a God, Malone thinks.
And maybe there’s a hell.
But there’s sure as shit no Easter Bunny.