Don Farino leaned forward in his chair. "How many million dollars?"

Sophia was still smiling. "Yes, Joe, how many million dollars?" At the use of Kurtz's first name, Don Farino shot a glance at his daughter, but then turned his gaze back in Kurtz's direction.

Kurtz shrugged. "How the hell should I know? Little Skag knew that something weird was going on. That's why he suggested I get in touch with you, Don Farino. He doesn't give a shit about a missing accountant."

Farino blinked. "What are you saying? Why is Stephen interested?"

Kurtz sighed. He wished he was carrying a weapon, but it was too late for that. "Skag started screwing around in the drug business, started sampling his product, and was sent to jail. You and the other families let that happen."

Farino glared. "Mr. Kurtz, it took almost twenty years for the New York State families to come to some accommodation with the Colombians, the Mexicans, the Vietnamese, and all of the other—"

"Yeah, yeah," interrupted Kurtz, "I know all about your little treaties and arrangements and quotas. Who gives a shit? Skag rocked the boat, trying to get more heroin on the streets and money in his pocket, and you let him be sent up for it. But someone using the family contacts opened those floodgates again just a few months ago. Little Skag thinks it's an end run around you, Don Farino."

"He's crazy!" shouted Miles and got to his feet again.

Kurtz looked at the lawyer. "Malcolm Kibunte's gangbangers knocked over the Dunkirk military arsenal last August…"

"What has that got to do with anything?" Sophia snapped.

"… and Miles… and whoever's sponsoring Miles… has been trading the weapons for yaba and China White and advanced methamphetamine recipes with Vancouver…"

"Vancouver?" Don Farino repeated, his tone sincerely puzzled. "Who's in Vancouver?"

"The Triads," said Kurtz. "Malcolm was shipping the guns overland. The drugs came in through the Niagara border checkpoints along with the electronic hand-me-downs from the Vancouver families. Malcolm and his boys knocked over some of the other truck shipments from Florida and New York just to hide what they were really doing. They were just using your family contacts to get the heroin and yaba here, then dumping the junk on the street market, creating a new generation of addicts."

There was a silence. Finally Don Farino stared hard at Leonard Miles. "You traded weapons for drugs with our deadliest enemies?"

"It's a lie." Miles's tone was no longer frightened.

"William." Don Farino, addressed one of the guards. "Charles." To the other man.

The two bodyguards stepped forward and pulled long-barreled.38 revolvers from their shoulder holsters.

"Take Mr. Miles outside and make him talk." The old man sounded very tired. "Then take him somewhere and kill him."

William and Charles stood there, but they did not aim their guns at Leonard Miles. One of the muzzles was pointed at Don Farino and the other at Kurtz.

Leonard Miles had now dropped all of his act of fear and desperation. He showed a particularly nasty grin as he stood between the two guards. "More than one hundred and twenty million dollars," he said in conversational tones. "Right under your nose, old man. Do you think I wouldn't use some of it to buy off everyone on your family payroll?"

Don Farino's head jerked up. Sophia seemed to be meditating. Kurtz sat very still, his palms flat on his thighs.

"William, Charles," said Miles. "Kill the old man and that bastard Kurtz. Here. Now."

Four gunshots roared and the room filled with the stink of cordite and blood.

"Please state the nature of your emergency," said the bored 911 voice.

"There's a madman killing people," said Arlene. She gave the porn shop's address and hung up.

The burned monster was battering the locked door. While the rear door was reinforced by metal, this inner door was just wood. It began to splinter and tear from the hinges as Arlene watched on the small TV monitor.

Arlene grabbed her purse and prepared to run. Which way? Out the back door and she could probably get the Buick unlocked and started before the burned man caught her. Probably.

Through the hidden door into the old parking garage. He wouldn't find the hidden door. Unless he knew about it. Then she would be wandering through an empty parking garage with this creature behind her.

The door shook on its hinges. The cheap lock rattled and gave.

He might be after Joe, thought Arlene. Which means he might come back.

She had only a few seconds before the madman would be in the basement with her. Arlene grabbed her umbrella from beneath the wall rack and smashed both overhead lightbulbs. Now, with the computer monitor off, the only light came from the small lamp at her desk and the flickering black-and-white security monitor.

Arlene ran back to the desk, switched off the lamp, pushed back her chair, and crouched on one knee. The security monitor showed a static-lashed image of the burned and bandaged monster kicking the door off its hinges.

Arlene turned the monitor off. The long room was suddenly a cave, in near absolute darkness.

Oh God, oh God, I should have put the thing on first. Arlene fumbled in the lower right drawer. She found the heavy goggles, but the straps were too complicated to fit in the dark.

The madman was lurching down the steps. She could hear him—heavy breathing, gasping—she could smell him—but she could not see him.

Arlene held the night-vision goggles up to her face and fumbled the switch on. Luckily, she had played a bit with the strange thing during her free time. The motor inside the apparatus hummed slightly—and suddenly she could see the basement glowing in green tire. The madman swung his head in her direction. In this greenish goggle light, his burns and swollen face and hands and sopping bandages were even more terrible He held a long knife in his right hand. The blade seemed to flicker like a beacon in the amplified night-vision goggles.

The creature was sniffing the air as if searching for her. He began lurching in her direction.

Arlene slid her right hand under the desk drawer, found the hammerless.32 Magnum Ruger revolver there, and lifted the weapon. The goggles slipped in her trembling left hand. Suddenly she was blind.

The burned man ran into the low partition running down the middle of the room. He kicked it to splinters and came on.

My perfume. He smells my perfume.

The creature was ten feet away when Arlene squeezed the Ruger's trigger.

Nothing.

Oh, dear God. I forgot to load it!

The burned man crashed into the far side of Arlene's desk. He swung the knife in a wild arc, hitting the computer monitor and sweeping it and stacks of files off the desk with a crash.

Arlene dropped the night-vision goggles and held the useless Ruger up with both hands. Saliva splattered her as the monster began crawling over the desk. It was screaming obscenities. She could hear him, but not see him.

No, I loaded it. The safety! Once a week a mah-jongg at Bernice's and twice a week to the shooting range since Alan had died. Arlene clicked off the safety with her forefinger, found the trigger guard, found the trigger, and fired upward into darkness, toward the heat and stench less than a foot above her. She kept firing until the hammer clicked on empty chambers.