"My name is Dun, Richard Dun."

"And why the hell are you here?"

"I'm looking for a mutual friend, Nick Anton."

"Wrong. He's no friend of mine."

"A mutual enemy, then."

"Wrong again. I've nothing against him, either. One more bad answer and you win the fuck-you-and-the-horse- you-rode-in-on prize, and I can promise you won't like it. Do I have your attention?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now what's this about me trying to kill you last night?"

"Just what I said."

"Trust me, if I'd been trying you wouldn't be here. Who put you on to me?"

"You did."

"You trying to make things hard on yourself?"

"Not at all. The weapon used was a crossbow, the tip on the bolt had a glass vial with curare in it."

A brief silence from Keyes. "The hell you say."

"Missed me, though." "Then that should tell you it wasn't me. I don't miss."

As the man was in full charge of the situation, he had no logical reason to lie. Richard did not always trust in logic; however, his instinct told him something was decidedly odd here. "Look, I think we've some talking to do."

"That's right. You stay there and talk."

"Mr. Keyes, you are a professional and so am I. Given sufficient precautions on your part, I'd prefer to be able to sit up and face you for this conversation."

Keyes thought it over. "All right. Slowly. You will stay on the floor and sit on your hands."

Fair enough. For him. More than fair enough for Richard once he made eye contact.

They'd not wrecked the house too much. A table and lamp were in pieces, and a big leather sofa askew. They managed to miss a large entertainment center in the low, rectangular box of a room.

Standing by the shaded front picture window, Keyes had his back to what light did seep through. In his thirties, medium in height, but with powerful shoulders under an innocuous brown polo shirt, he held a Walther P-99 in one strangely delicate hand. His alert stance smacked of military training, though there was no mention of it in his files. He matched the DEA's grainy photo, a bald man with a well-shaped skull, his fringe of remaining hair cut very short. He now sported a precisely trimmed goatee; close up, his resemblance to Lenin was positively uncanny, but without the facial hair he'd have been Mr. Invisible... except for the eyes. Richard recognized a fellow killer.

Keyes returned the study. "It's an okay cover," he said, with a nod to Richard's clothes. "Except for your car being wrong, the hat the wrong color and the fact it's Sunday, you might pass as a city worker to anyone else."

"I thought it worth the chance."

"You had a fourth strike against you. I was expecting someone like you to show up."

"Because you quit working for Alejandro?"

Keyes's eyes sharpened. "You know an awful lot. Tell me where you heard that."

"On Nick Anton's answering machine. You've a distinctive voice."

"And why was Nick letting you listen in?"

"He wasn't there at the time. I broke into his place last night looking for him."

"Keep going."

Richard smiled. "I think we may have a common enemy-Alejandro Trujillo. If you were expecting someone like me, then you know he doesn't like it when people leave his employ without his blessing."

"His retirement plan sucks. I figured if the news came through Nick it'd soften things. Maybe."

"Nick was your go-between with Trujillo?"

"Sometimes."

"I take it you didn't like what he arranged in Addison?"

"What do you know about it?"

"Quite a lot..." There. Eye contact. And Keyes was sober. His partial silhouetting by the window made it hard for Richard to be sure if his focus was working, but the silence between them grew profound. "Are you ready to listen to me, Mr. Keyes?"

"Yes."

That was a relief. "I'm going to stand up now. You will remain still. Got that?"

"Yes."

Richard stood and stretched out the kinks, rubbing his extremely sore wrist, flexing the fingers. He'd taken a good crack there; it might have shattered the bones on another man. As it was, he'd have full use of it within the hour.

He found his revolver, shoving it back into his belt, then turned on Keyes. "You may put your pistol down now."

He set it on the window sill.

"Mr. Keyes, you will start cooperating with me. You trust me. I am your friend. You will always tell me the truth. Is that clear?" "Yes." His killer eyes were dimmer now, his stance more relaxed.

"Excellent. Now tell me where Alejandro Trujillo is."

"I don't know."

"Does Nick Anton know?"

"Maybe."

"Where might I find him?"

"He's got a place in Euless. Rest of the time he works at Bubba Rob's."

Shit. This was getting entirely too frustrating. "I want you to contact him again."

"Okay."

"You feel very comfortable talking to me; trust that feeling. Because of it you will do nothing to harm me or cause harm to happen to me."

"Okay."

"Now, how did you get into my flat?"

"I didn't."

"Then who did?"

"I don't know."

That was it, the situation was now officially beyond frustrating. Richard did not put his fist through one of the walls. He was still healing. But damn it all to hell, he wanted to. "All right, Keyes, let's sit down and have a heart-to- heart."

Keyes's expression changed in some subtle way, becoming almost good-natured. "Sure thing. Want a beer?"

"Ah... no thank you."

"I got some ice tea." He left his spot by the window and went into a very small kitchen, Richard trailing him. Keyes started to open an avocado-green refrigerator covered with magnet-pinned photos and food delivery ad cards, but froze, glaring. "Whisky! Soda! Goddamn it! Get out of there!"

Two gray-striped cats shot down from a counter where they'd been crouched over an open pizza box. They tore past Richard's legs and vanished somewhere deeper into the house.

"I'm gonna kill those two one of these days," Keyes muttered, checking on the pizza. "Okay, they didn't do any permanent damage. I should have shut the lid, but you came banging on my door. Want some supper?"

"No, thank you."

"Damn stuff got cold." He shifted two slices onto a plate and shoved it in a microwave. As soon as he hit the cook button, a loud mournful yowl went up, like a soul crying from hell. He interrupted the heat cycle and looked behind the oven, which was at an angle in a corner, creating a triangle of space. "Monster, what the hell are you doing there?

Well, come on, babyness. Aw, poor Mr. Monster."

The unhappy white and black cat he pulled out lived up to its name. It had a small head compared to the rest of its body, which had to weigh at least twenty pounds.

"You stupid cat, you trying to get irradiated? You're already a mutant." He held the huge feline on its back, fingers digging into its vast expanse of stomach. The beast yowled again, a long, sad wail of protest. "Shut up and get some loving." Monster had other plans, though, successfully struggled free, and hit the floor. Surprisingly fast, he shot toward a cat door cut into a wall and, after a minor struggle, oozed through.

"He's not much for visitors," Keyes said. "Paranoid for some reason. You like cats?"

"More or less. You certainly seem to."

"I hate the little freeloading bastards, but they're more important to me than most of the people I know."

"How many do you have?"

"Enough to put me on everyone's weird list." He opened a cell phone sitting on a counter and started to punch in a number. Richard asked for an explanation. "I'm calling Nick, like you wanted. Change your mind?"

"Not at all."

The other line buzzed a few times, then the answering machine kicked on with a basic message. "It's me," said Keyes in a stern tone. "Something's happened your boss will want to know about. Call me back immediately. This is serious so don't fart around." He disconnected. "That should do it."

Richard waited as the man heated his interrupted meal and opened a beer; then they went back to the living room.

Keyes put it on a foldout TV table, sat on the couch, and dug in. Richard found a chair opposite for himself, using the respite to massage his wrist.

"Sorry about that." Keyes said.

"Part of the job. I'd have done the same."

"So who are you, Mr. Dun?"

"One of Alejandro's targets."

"And you think I was trying to hit the bull's-eye? If they used a crossbow, I can understand you making that mistake. A very select few are aware of what I do with them, but the truth is I never heard about you until today."

"You weren't contacted to do a job here?"

"I didn't say that."

"What do you know about the Addison explosion, then?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Richard focused, giving him a slight nudge. "You first. Tell me everything."

Keyes blinked awake. "About two weeks ago Nick called to say Trujillo wanted a job done. A pretty big one, a business rival he wanted blown to kingdom come. I turned him down."

"Why?"

"Too clumsy, too spectacular. Use a gun, then it's only another murder for the cops. Use explosives and you've got the Federales and all their cousins on your ass. There are simpler ways to take people out. Besides that nonsense, it was local. I never do any job like that locally, always out of the country."

"Killing international drug lords for fun and profit?"

"Why not? Someone has to." He washed down a gulp of pizza with beer. "And the pay is good."

"Working for another drug lord?" Richard kept any and all judgment from his tone.

"If not me, then someone else. I'd rather the money come to me. I got a family to support." A slender black cat jumped onto the couch next to him, highly interested in the pizza. He pushed it off, growling. "Not now, Dot. Go away."

"You trust Trujillo?"

"Absolutely not. But I trust his agenda, which is to be the richest damn bastard down there by taking out the competition. He might make it, too, or would have. Without me running errands for him he's going to find it a lot harder. He doesn't have anyone else with my special skills that he can trust not to screw up. It's easy to find someone who can kill, but damn near impossible to find someone who's smart about it."

"Are you entirely out of work, then?"

"I never said that." Keyes's eyes almost twinkled. "There's plenty to be had, you just have to be careful who you work for."