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“This is a cute stall tactic.” Jazz smiled. “You don’t have a clue, do you?”
It was then that Myron heard a familiar song coming from a nearby car.
“The Heart of Rock and Roll” by Huey Lewis and the American Express/News.
“You talk too much,” Jazz said. “Cut the fucking toe off, Sal. He’ll be much more cooperative without that toe.”
Sal held the foot down. Myron kept bucking.
Sal said, “Jerry, help me here.”
Jerry came over. He held the foot down with both hands. Sal opened the clippers. There wasn’t much time. The song was still playing. Huey was singing that from what he’s seen, he believes them, when the music stopped cold.
Myron stopped squirming. “Sal?”
Sal looked up at him.
“Stop right now or you’re going to die.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.”
Myron closed his eyes and waited.
The first bullet took off the back of Sal’s head.
Warm blood and brain matter splattered onto Myron’s naked foot.
Myron shouted, “You don’t have to—”
But there was no use. Win stepped into the room. While quietly singing that the old boy may be barely breathing, he took out Jerry next with yet another bullet to the head. Then the other goon went down as Win crooned the chorus about the heart of rock and roll, the heart of rock and roll, still beating.
All three shot in the head. All three deader than dead.
Jazz raised his hands. Win pointed the gun at him too while singing, “In Cleveland. Detroit.”
Jazz said, “Please don’t.”
CHAPTER NINE
Three hours later, at eight p.m. on the dot, Donna Kravat sauntered into Mizumi, the sushi place at the Wynn hotel, decked out in a slinky black dress and high high heels. Myron rose and she gave the freshly showered, freshly scrubbed-footed Myron a small buss on the cheek. Donna smelled great. When she sat down, Myron said, “Why did you tip them off?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Without warning, Myron snatched her purse from her.
“What the hell—?”
He started rummaging through it, found her phone, pulled it out.
“What are you doing?”
He held the phone up to her face. It unlocked.
“Myron?”
Myron scrolled down on iMessage. “You tipped them off. Right after I arrived. That’s who you were texting.”
“Myron—”
