"What happened next?" Marcetti asked.

"While he's spinning some scheme about gold bullion I sidle next to him and shoot him in the head behind the ear, easy, bullet expands in his brain case, exits through his face, kills him instantly. But I have to work fast now. The client demanded torture, a lesson, you know, all that East End c.o.c.kney geezer bulls.h.i.t."

"You killed him?"

"Yeah, but listen, that's not the story. The story's coming up. So I'm cutting off his p.e.n.i.s-"

"You were what?"

"They wanted me to cut off his p.e.n.i.s and make him eat it before I killed him. Not my scene but easy to replicate. Anyway I'm doing that and not really paying attention and guess what happens?"

"He wakes up," Luke said, horrified.

Killian laughed. "Man you've some imagination. No, the girlfriend comes back. And she's got a pair of heavies with her. One of them has a f.u.c.king AK-47, another has an Uzi. I'm minding my own business, sawing at this guy's d.i.c.k with my Swiss Army knife and before I know what's happening - World War Three."

Killian chuckled, shook his head and looked down. He was talking conversationally but he knew he had them now. He was good at this. He was a minstrel. A salesman. A preacher.

"That was a scene, but lucky for me they didn't know what they were doing - jazzing each other, shooting for the rafters. I dive for the sofa, roll behind a wall where they can't see me and then it's tea and crumpets at the Palace. I run to the bathroom, out through the window, back in through the front door behind them."

"What happened next?" Luke asked.

Killian gave him a shut the f.u.c.k up look.

"I shot both the hoods in the back and checked them in the skull, neat checks, two rounds a piece and I ran over and smacked the girlfriend hard in the face, broke her nose, knocked her clean out. Ran back over to our hoy, cut off his d.i.c.k, put it in his mouth. Then back to the girlfriend. She's the problem."

Marcetti nodded. His lips were purple from holding his breath. Killian blew smoke at him and Marcetti finally sucked in air through his open mouth. "What did you do?" he asked.

"What would you do?" Killian asked.

"I - I don't know."

"I can't kill her, not in the contract. But you can't let her go, not after all this."

Killian nodded at Luke, now was the time for him to speak. Kid caught on quick.

"What did you do?" Luke asked.

"I went to the kitchen and found a steak knife and cut her throat," Killian said. "Her blood came out crimson. She was young, her heart was beating fast. Frothed out all over the floor and all the way to that wooden patio deck."

He nodded at Luke and then turned his attention on Marcetti. "You see, Andrew, I'm only the advance guard. If you kill me other men will come, wherever you are. Before your eyes they will castrate your son and rape your wife and hurt them until you are begging for their deaths. You need to be made a lesson of. Your story will be legend. It's worth it to them, losing the half mill for that."

Marcetti started crying.

Killian got up, walked to him, put his hand on the barrel of the shotgun and lifted it gently from him. He broke it open and took out the sh.e.l.ls. Luke had whipped out his Sat.u.r.day Night Special but Killian shook his head and Luke put the gun away.

"I don't have any options, I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't know what I can do," Marcetti sobbed.

Killian let him cry for a bit, went to the window, stared out at the street. He did a standing ten-count and still with his back turned said: "When did you buy your house?"

"What?"

"When did you buy this house?"

"2005.".

"What's the equity?"

"I don't know, we haven't-"

"You don't know? Guy with your problems, give me a f.u.c.king break, you know every penny you've got or can get."

"Things around here haven't been moving."

"What's the base?"

"One, one point two."

"And you bought for?"

"Six hundred and fifty - one hundred and fifty down from me, another hundred down from my parents and a hundred thousand no-interest loan from my bank."

Killian turned to look at him. "Did you refinance? The truth."

"No. Not yet."

"How much do you owe now?"

"Three."

"Who signed the mortgage?"

"I did."

"Need your wife's signature?"

"Yes."

Killian nodded. "Sell me your house right now and you and your family will live. Otherwise, well, you know.. .Otherwise you're all dead."

Killian walked to him, stuck out his hand. Marcetti looked at the big meat-axe paw in front him. He wiped the tears from his face and after a moment's hesitation he shook it.

"Good, now go to the kitchen, make us some coffee. Mine's black, no sugar, a wee bit of water in the cup."

Marcetti went to the kitchen, stunned, like a car-crash survivor.

Killian called Sean, got patched through.

"Yeah?"

"Sean, can you get lawyers up from Boston, maybe through Charlie Bingham?"

"Why?"

"We're buying the mark's house."

Sean didn't blanche. "We're transferring the escrow to Bridget?"

"You catch on quick. She and her better half will need it today. Can you do it?"

"It's a holiday, but I'll figure something out. We make anything on the house?"

"Fifty K."

"That plus our commission. Profitable twenty-four hours. Sure you don't want to come back to work for me full-time? A dozen scores like this and you're laughing me bucko."

"I'm hanging up, Sean. We need your boys p.r.o.nto. M.F. will give you the address."

"You tell me."

"We don't leave that spilled over the airwaves."

"Okay, I'll ask him.. .So, how was it working in the mines after all this time?"

"Bye, Sean."

Marcetti came into the living room with three cups of coffee. He wasn't crying anymore. He was a gambler, he liked the high stakes aspect of all of this. He was digging on the drama.

Killian took a cup, gave one to Luke.

"I wanted cream," Luke started until he saw Killian's eyes.

"Okay, here's the deal, Andrew. We're going to buy your house from you for nine hundred thousand dollars. That's a price we can sell it at immediately. We'll pay off Michael and give you fifty thousand in cash to tide you over."

Marcetti's face was ashen, distant, but still he nodded.

"What'll I tell my wife? What can I tell her?"

Killian put his hands on Marcetti's shoulders. He placed his own cool forehead on Marcetti's sweating furnace of a forehead.

"I'll speak to her," Killian said.

Marcetti closed his eyes. Tears again. They were close now. Like brothers. Closer.

"You'll talk to her?" Marcetti asked.

"Andrew, paisano, I'll take care of everything."

Marcetti nodded gratefully.

The wife came back.

The kid came back.

Killian explained.

Long shadow.

Highway lights.

Dusk.

Darkness came down like a shroud across the sun.

There would come a time when he'd be dead, when everything would be dead and all the suns were gone and the universe was black. That time would come, but it was not now.

He was alive. Tired but alive.

He took off his jacket and folded it carefully on top of the bike messenger bag.

They drove over some new bridge he hadn't seen before. A white concrete cable-stayed affair with inverted Y-shaped towers. He didn't like it. It was modern, self-important, showy. He preferred slow, incremental change, but the Zeitgeist was for revolution.

Luke dropped him outside the Fairmont.

"Cheers," he said, and getting out pa.s.sed him ten fifties as a tip.

Luke took the money but didn't thank him. "Can I ask you something?" Luke said.

"Sure."

Luke hesitated and found his voice: "That story...Uruguay...did you really have to cut that poor woman's throat?"

Killian slung his bike messenger bag behind his back, tightened the strap, folded his jacket over his arm.

"Son, when I saw your gun, for a second there I thought you were a player that Michael had sent to keep an eye on me or cross me," Killian said.

"I'm not a player," Luke muttered.

"No you're not. Stick to driving."

Killian walked into the hotel. He checked at reception and sure enough Forsythe's people had booked him a room. Big suite on the upper level. Luke came up behind him at the elevator. He was breathless, there was something in his hand. The five hundred bucks. Killian was impressed by his integrity. So was Luke.

"Take your money, I don't want it," Luke said.

Killian pushed the call b.u.t.ton, grabbed the five hundred, took Luke's arm in his powerful grip and shoved the money deep into Luke's trouser pocket.

The elevator dinged. The doors opened. Killian went inside. He pressed 6.

"I don't want it," Luke said. His face was shivery, nervous, very young. He was grubbing in his pocket to get the readies back out.