Deep
"What do you want?"
John's voice on the other end of the phone, with its note of impatience, brings Fusco a familiar mixture of annoyance and relief.
They're never going to be best buddies, that's a fact. But it doesn't matter. After all they've been through, Fusco's come to trust the guy. Sure, he can be a smug jackass. He can also be pretty damn effective at the right end of a gun. He could take care of this mess right now without breaking a sweat.
. . . And then what? John comes in with guns blazing and busts up this little rendezvous . . . so there's just another one later, with another cast of characters. One gunfight isn't going to break HR, not now. And if someone should happen to remember that Fusco took a phone call just beforehand, then . . .
. . . Then HR might just finally break him. For good. There's no getting around it: He's in too deep now for even Wonder Boy to pull him out.
With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Fusco hears himself saying the only thing he can say.
". . . Nothing."