“That’s neither here nor there. He was caught, he was charged, and he doesn’t deny the act. The DA’s willing to deal, offer probation and community service, if Nick cooperates.”

Zack chuffed out smoke. “Then he’ll cooperate.”

Rachel’s left brow lifted, then settled. She had no doubt Zackary Muldoon thought he could prod, push or punch anybody into anything. “I sincerely doubt it. He’s scared, but he’s stubborn. And he’s loyal to the Cobras.”

Zack said something foul about the Cobras. Rachel was forced to agree. “Well, that may be, but it doesn’t change the bottom line. His record is fairly lengthy, and it won’t be easy to get around it. It’s also mostly hustle and jive. The fact that this is his first step into the big leagues might help reduce his sentence. I think I can get him off with three years. If he behaves, he’ll only serve one.”

Zack’s fingers dug into the aluminum can, crushing it. Fear settled sickly in his stomach. “I don’t want him to go to prison.”

“Muldoon, I’m a lawyer, not a magician.”

“They got back the stuff he took, didn’t they?”

“That doesn’t negate the crime, but yes. Of course, there’s several thousand more outstanding.”

“I’ll make it good.” Somehow. Zack heaved the can toward a waste can. It tipped the edge, joggled, then fell inside. “Listen, I’ll make restitution on what was stolen. Nick’s only nineteen. If you can get the DA to try him as a minor, it would go easier.”

“The state’s tough on gang members, and with his record I don’t think it would happen.”

“If you can’t do it, I’ll find someone who can.” Zack threw up a hand before she could tear into him. “I know I came down on you before. Sorry. I work nights, and I’m not my best in the morning.” Even that much of an apology grated on him, but he needed her. “I get a call an hour ago from one of Nick’s friends telling me he’s been in jail all night. When I get down here and see him, it’s the same old story. I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody. I’m handling it.” He tossed down his cigarette, crushed it out, lit another. “And I know he’s scared down to the bone.” With something close to a sigh, he jammed his hands in his pockets. “I’m all he’s got, Ms. Stanislaski. Whatever it takes, I’m not going to see him go to prison.”

It was never easy for her to harden her heart, but she tried. She wiped her hands carefully on a paper napkin. “Have you got enough money to cover the losses? Fifteen thousand?”

He winced, but nodded. “I can get it.”

“It’ll help. How much influence do you have over Nick?”

“Next to none.” He smiled, and Rachel was surprised to note that the smile held considerable charm. “But that can change. I’ve got an established business, and a two-bedroom apartment. I can get you professional and character references, whatever you need. My record’s clean— Well, I did spend thirty days in the brig when I was in the navy. Bar fight.” He shrugged it off. “I don’t guess they’d hold it against me, since it was twelve years ago.”

Rachel turned the possibilities over in her mind. “If I’m reading you right, you want me to try to get the court to turn Nick over to your care.”

“The probation and community service. A responsible adult to look out for him. All the damages paid.”

“You might not be doing him any favor, Muldoon.”

“He’s my brother.”

That she understood perfectly. Rachel cast her eyes skyward as the first drop of rain fell. “I’ve got to get back to the office. If you’ve got the time, you can walk with me. I’ll make some calls, see what I can do.”

A bar, Rachel thought with a sigh as she tried to put together a rational proposition for the hearing that afternoon. Why did the man have to own a bar? She supposed it suited him—the big shoulders, the big hands, the crooked nose that she assumed had been broken. And, of course, the rough, dark Irish looks that matched his temper.

But it would have been so much nicer if she could tell the judge that Zackary Muldoon owned a nice men’s shop in midtown. Instead, she was going to ask a judge to hand over the responsibility and the guardianship of a nineteen-year-old boy—with a record and an attitude—to his thirty-two-year-old stepbrother, who ran an East Side bar called Lower the Boom.

There was a chance, a slim one. The DA was still pushing for names, but the shop owner had been greatly mollified with the promise of settlement. No doubt he’d inflated the price of his merchandise, but that was Muldoon’s problem, not hers.

She didn’t have much time to persuade the DA that he didn’t want to try Nick as an adult. Taking what information she’d managed to pry out of Zack, she snagged opposing counsel and settled into one of the tiny conference rooms in the courthouse.

“Come on, Haridan, let’s clean this mess up and save the court’s time and the taxpayers’ money. Putting this kid in jail isn’t the answer.”

Haridan, balding on top and thick through the middle, eased his bulk into a chair. “It’s my answer, Stanislaski. He’s a punk. A gang member with a history of antisocial behavior.”

“Some tourist scams and some pushy-shovey.”

“Assault.”

“Charges were dropped. Come on, we both know it’s minor-league. He’s minor-league. We’ve got a scared, troubled kid looking for his place with a gang. We want him out of the gang, no question. But jail isn’t the way.” She held up a hand before Haridan could interrupt. “Look, his stepbrother is willing to help—not only by paying for property you have absolutely no proof my client stole, but by taking responsibility. Giving LeBeck a job, a home, supervision. All you have to do is agree to handling LeBeck as a minor.”

“I want names.”

“He won’t give them.” Hadn’t she gone back down and harassed Nick for nearly an hour to try to pry one loose? “You can put him away for ten years, and you still won’t get one. So what’s the point? You haven’t got a hardened criminal here—yet. Let’s not make him one.”

They knocked that back and forth, and Haridan softened. Not out of the goodness of his heart, but because his plate was every bit as full as Rachel’s. He had neither the time nor the energy to pursue one punk kid through the system.