“Fuck you.” Sam’s bloodshot eyes squinted in resentment.

“Good answer.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child,” Sam shot back.

“I never have,” Paul said. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe it’s your misperception of life that leads you to that conclusion?”

“Don’t talk to me about life.”

“Right, your life is so bad-” Paul’s body language spoke as loudly as his words “-you’ll destroy everyone else’s to feel good?”

“Fuck off,” Sam exploded.

“There you go again with that brilliant vocabulary. You’re sloppy, foolish, and reckless. Do you know how easy it was to figure out what you were doing? To fly up here and take this box from the safe before you could get near it?” Paul ran his hand along the smooth surface of the wooden lid.

Sam’s breathing became labored with anxiety.

“Look, tell me what you want,” Paul said as he patted the box. “Is it the money, recognition, or is it just this box?”

Dance stepped from his car and approached Sam. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Wait in the car,” Sam said.

“Who is this?” Dance waved a finger at Paul as he looked at the box atop the BMW. “And what’s up with the box?”

“It’s nothing,” Sam said.

“Right, it’s nothing,” Dance responded.

“It’s between me and my brother.”

“Brother?” Dance said in surprise. “What the hell is going on?”

Neither Dreyfus answered, both caught up in their mutual anger.

“Who are you?” Dance said, looking at the man sitting in the car.

Suddenly, a black Mustang shot up the driveway into the parking lot, screeching to a halt in front of Dance.

“Hey, Dance,” Shannon said calmly as he got out of his car.

Dance turned to his partner, his eyes looking about for anyone else, as if he was expecting someone.

“Everything all right?” Shannon asked as he followed Dance’s gaze.

Nick stepped from the passenger seat of Shannon’s car and walked around the vehicle.

“I’ve got a bit of an issue here; nothing I can’t handle,” Dance said, putting on his false face. “What brings you here?”

“I’ve got some people making some awfully strange accusations.”

“Some people?” Dance asked, looking at Nick.

Nick glared back at him.

“I don’t particularly like false or unfounded accusations.” Dance paused. “Isn’t it off-base to question your superior?”

“Just tell me what you’re doing here,” Shannon said, running his hand through his black hair, “so I can get back to dealing with more important things.”

“It’s personal, Shannon, so leave now before we have an issue.” A hint of anger rose in his voice.

“Yeah, it’s personal,” Nick mocked him.

Dance turned to Nick. “Who the hell are you?”

Nick stood quietly staring at the man who had wreaked havoc on his life.

“He said you were going to kill his wife,” Shannon said accusingly. “Do you know what the hell he’s talking about?”

“Listen, Shannon,” Dance said, as if speaking to a child. “Internal Affairs already has a file on you. One phone call and you’ll not only go down but end up in a prison where the inmates hate cops.”

“Boy, you really think that scares me?” Shannon said, stepping forward, his chest expanding in anger. “I know I’m clean and I know you’re not. Enough of your bullshit.”

Dance laughed, mocking Shannon. “We’ll chat later. In the meantime me and my friend have an appointment to get to.”

Dance turned to Sam and motioned for him to follow him back to his car.

Sam just stared at him, the moment dragging on. He looked back at the box, at his brother standing there, his hand upon it.

“Dance,” Sam said quietly. “We’re not going.”

“What?” Dance spun about as if a knife had been plunged into his back.

“I’m calling the whole thing off,” Sam said.

Dance walked right up into Sam’s face, breathing on him like an enraged bull. His eyes moved about, looking at Paul, looking back at Sam, looking toward the box on the car.

Without warning, Dance drew his pistol. His left arm shot out, grabbed Paul, and pulled him into a headlock. He jammed the nine-millimeter to Paul’s head.

Shannon was like bottled lightning drawing his Glock, aiming it head-high at Dance. “What the hell, Ethan?”

Dance ignored Shannon, grinding the pistol into Paul’s ear as he shouted, “What’s in the box, Sam?”

Sam looked at Paul, his mind fogged with panic.

Paul remained the personification of calm-he had been in war, he had been in battle, and he knew that cool heads prevailed.

“I didn’t wake up this morning with the intention of ending my day empty-handed. Answer me, what the hell is in that box?”

“It’s not what you think,” Sam said.

“It’s enough to screw me over. Is it worth more than $25 million? Is it enough to trade your brother’s life over?”

“Put the gun down, Ethan,” Shannon whispered.

“I think you better open the box before I kill your brother,” Dance thumbed back the hammer of his gun.

“Dance,” Shannon yelled. “Goddammit, put down your weapon.”

“Can you handle the blood on your hands, Shannon?” Dance twisted Paul so he was a shield between him and his partner. “You talk a big game, but can you make the shot, are you that confident that you can kill me? If you miss, can you deal with the guilt of collateral damage?”

Nick remained still, a silent observer to the unfolding anarchy.

Shannon stared into Dreyfus’s eyes, seeing a man who knew no panic, whose mind was calmly looking for solutions, for escape.

A Chrysler Sebring shot up the drive, coming to a screeching halt behind the standoff. Johnny Arilio leaped from the car, his gun leading the way, pointed straight at Shannon. Randall emerged from the driver’s seat, slowly drawing his pistol and aiming it at the other side of Shannon’s head.

“It pays to have friends,” Dance said.

Shannon gripped his nine-millimeter tighter, knowing that if he gave it up, the man in the crook of Dance’s arm would be dead in moments.

“I’ll tell you what,” Dance said. “Lower your weapon, toss it away, and I won’t shoot everybody here, beginning with the man in my arms.”

“You wouldn’t-”

Dance fired his weapon into the tarmac, sending a shock through everyone.

And the moment spun into chaos.

Nick stood his ground, staring at Paul Dreyfus and Dance’s gun, which once again was held against his head. Sam was in a full-on panic, his skinny arms shaking as his eyes darted around frantically searching for salvation.

“The next one will land in flesh,” Dance said. “Mark my words, Shannon.”

Shannon stared at Dance. Knowing the truth to his statement, he finally relented, placing his gun on the ground and pushing it ten feet out of reach.

“Hey, Randall,” Dance said. “In the trunk of my car are some police-issue zip-ties. Get them and secure everyone.”

Arilio waved Nick and Zachariah Nash over to stand next to the Mustang. Randall grabbed the plastic restraints from Dance’s trunk and quickly zip-tied their wrists in front, sitting them down against the muscle car.

Arilio turned to Shannon, pointing his gun at his chest.

“You guys just made the biggest mistake of your life.” Shannon’s eye burned with rage as they secured his wrists.

“Just cooperate, Shannon, and sit your ass down,” Arilio barked as he pushed the detective down next to Nick.

“See what you have done, Sam?” Dance said as he looked at the three prisoners, turning his attention back to the man he held in a headlock, then finally back to Sam Dreyfus.

“You’re not backing out on me.” There was a hint of fear in Dance’s voice. “I’ve got commitments, promises to uphold.”

Dance stood there controlling the moment, thinking…

“This your brother’s plane?” Dance looked at the white Cessna on his left. “You know how to fly?”

Sam reluctantly nodded.

Dance turned his attention back to Paul and drove the gun into the side of his head, grinding the barrel into his ear.