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done. Christ, Jack thought. He realized, slightly stunned, that he was angry. He understood why Gerry had made the call, but that wasn’t the same as acceptance, was it? Had he been fooling himself? Had he come to peace with the suspension, or was that simply what he’d told himself he should feel? He didn’t know, and didn’t feel like thinking about it.
    “Got any stock tips?” Butler asked.
    “Depends on what you’re looking for. Legal or illegal?”
    “Better give the first one.”
    “Good. It’s the only kind I know.” Jack took another swig and thought about it. “Buy low, sell high.”
    Butler grinned. “Dick.”
    “I know a few good private investment managers, if you’re looking.”
    “Yeah, maybe, thanks. Another eight and I’m out. Unless I win the lottery or become the next Wambaugh, I’m gonna need something.”
    They stood there, sipping their beers and saying nothing for a bit. Jack wondered if Butler was using the silence as an interview tool.
    “My grandfather was a cop,” Jack said.
    “Yeah?”
    “Baltimore Homicide.”
    Butler nodded slowly. “Mine, too. Tulsa. Small world.”
    “What got you into it?”
    “I was military police in the Army. In May of ’03 I ended up in Baghdad. A month after I got there we got mortared and I took some shrapnel. Spent about six months at Walter Reed, then they cut me loose. Alexandria was hiring cops and I figured it would be an easy transition.”
    “Was it?”
    “Mostly. If I’d stayed in, probably not. I know guys that did tour after tour. Those are the ones that have trouble.”
    The silence hung in the air.
    “So . . .” Jack said, hoping to nudge Butler toward the point of his visit. It worked.
    “So, are you in some kind of trouble, Jack?”
    “You mean aside from last night?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Not that I know of,” Jack replied. “Why?”
    “About a week ago a guy was killed on the 395, up near Holmes Run Trail.”
    “I read about it. Carjacking went bad, wasn’t it?”
    “Probably. The thing is, the guy lived in this building. He parked in the same garage as you do, drove a black sedan alot like your Chrysler. And he was a fair match for your description.”
    Jack felt his belly tighten. “You’re serious?”
    “As a heart attack. The tire on his car blew out. He pulled over to the side of the road to put the spare on. As far as we can figure it, somebody stopped, maybe offered to help him, then slit his throat and left.”
    Jack didn’t reply.
    “What I’m wondering now,” Butler said, “is if somebody did something to his tire, then followed along and waited until it blew.”
    “What time was this?”
    “About two in the morning. He was coming home from his girlfriend’s house—just like he did almost every Monday, Tuesday, and Friday for the past six months.”
    Just as he’d done with the gym, Jack thought. “Shit,” he muttered. It was all he could think to say.
    “That’s one word for it,” Butler replied. “You didn’t answer my question: Are you in trouble?”
    Yes, I think I am . They’d come at him twice and missed twice, leaving an innocent guy lying on the side of the road with his throat open. If he gave them a third chance they’d make damned sure he was dead. What was this about?
    Jack had never put much stock in his status as First Son.It was a shadow cast by his father, albeit an unintentional one. Plus, he didn’t like the exalted sound of it all. That aside, the truth remained: Somebody was doing their level best to kill the son of the President of the United States. That took a pair of jumbo balls. What could be that important? Not just good old-fashioned revenge, Jack thought. Yegor Morozov and the people in his circle were dispassionate and logical when it came to violence, ticking boxes and weighing pros and cons before ordering a trigger pulled.
    “Maybe it’s gambling, or sex, that kind of thing,” Butler said.
    “No, nothing like that.”
    “I’m not looking to hassle