WINDMILLS
Ryan's fingers slip from his glass,
which thankfully is only millimeters above the table's surface. It thumps
back down and Ryan's fingers move uncertainly to the edge of the table.
"You what? You knew?"
"Yes," Nick says. He recognizes the
horror building in Ryan's expression and adds, "I didn't plan the fire,
Ryan. I didn't know that anything was going to happen until moments before
it did."
"Huh?"
"Do you remember how I panicked suddenly?
It was right after I looked out the window. Something caught my eye --
a car. I saw some men walking away from the house and getting into it."
Ryan clearly doesn't follow. "And?"
"They were Esposito's guys, I'm sure.
He set the house on fire. It wasn't enough that I finally paid the money
-- he still wanted to have his fun and make what he thought was a very
important point."
"Esposito burned the house down?"
Ryan asks in amazement. "That--it doesn't make sense. Why would he have
a house set on fire? It would be easy enough for the cops to trace it back
to him if they started digging, wouldn't it?"
"He's counting on me not letting
it get that far," Nick says. "And I suppose he's right. If they start digging,
they're going to realize that we were knee-deep in debt thanks to a not-so-legal
arrangement. I'm sure he's got it covered on his end somehow anyway, but
... the point is that I'd be exposed in the process. I think."
"This is insane."
"It is," Nick agrees, rubbing one
temple with his forefinger. "But that's why we have to hope Brent Taylor
comes out of this all right. The less damage done to him, the better. That
way he'll forget about it and move on. The last thing we need is the police
commander holding a grudge against us."
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