That was Uncle Eddie. He’d spent the week up there at some trade show, got bored by Wednesday. Went out looking to score a cocktail waitress and maybe a gram to party with back at the hotel.

Instead, he’d ended up in some dive off South Archer Avenue, drinking Zywiec beer with some guy who knew a guy. That was why he’d picked this place to pitch Tony and Ray in the first place: it was the only bar in town that served Zywiec on tap. Uncle Eddie through and through.

They’d killed five pitchers between them, closed the place down talking possibilities.

So much for that shit.

Tony spat another string of blood. Wiped his mouth.

Went inside.

While Gwen was in the bathroom, Worth got up and moved all her stuff onto his side of the booth. Coat, cigarettes, a small nylon purse.

A few of the same people at the same nearby tables glanced in his direction again.

He ignored them, dividing his attention across the barroom floor, between the front door and the bathrooms in the opposite corner.

After a couple minutes, Gwen came out, holding the door for the next girl waiting.

Worth looked to the front and saw Tony Briggs coming in.

He slid out of the booth and stood to the side. Partially to let Briggs see him, mostly to direct Gwen where he wanted her to sit.

She smiled at him, starting back to the booth.

Worth checked out Tony Briggs. He wore khaki pants, a black nylon jacket, and a black ball cap pulled down low.

The guy’s face was a mess. Scrapes all over, a couple small cuts, a fat purple bulb for a lip. As Briggs neared, Worth noticed his nose was packed with cotton.

Gwen saw where he was looking and followed his eyes.

The moment she saw Tony Briggs, her smile faded. Her expression went blank—eyes going dull and distant, face becoming smooth as stone.

They all met at the booth.

“Hey, kids. How’s it going?” Briggs tipped his head to Gwen, gesturing toward his side of the booth. After you.

Worth put a hand on her elbow, steering her gently his way instead.

He felt her tense up the moment he touched her. Instant, reflexive. She pulled her arm away.

“Don’t do that,” she said.

More glances from the other tables.

“Yeah, come on,” Tony Briggs said. “Don’t be so controlling, man.”

Worth could sense the change in Gwen from a foot away. It was the same change he’d witnessed at the safe unit, the night Briggs and Salcedo had braced them. That extra gear of hers: like a small animal backed into a corner by a larger one.

She pushed past Briggs, slipping into his side of the booth like it was nothing one way or another to her. You don’t control me, either.

Briggs grinned, shaking his head. He slid in beside her.

That was the moment Worth decided two things.

First: something wasn’t right about this.

Second: the wire stayed connected from now on.

He’d been trying to establish a pattern of malfunction, so that he could disconnect the wire when Briggs got here.

But no more games. Everything they’d been through these past days six days boiled down to these past six seconds. Briggs had taken control of the situation as simply as that.

All of a sudden, the guys down the street were the best advantage Worth had.

He sat down. “What happened to your face?”

“Hands on the table,” Briggs said. “Both of you.”

Worth put his hands in front of him. “Where’s Ray?”

“Ray? He’s on duty.” Briggs nodded to the beer mugs and shot glasses on the table. “She’s getting ahead of you there, brother.”

“I decided I wasn’t thirsty.”

“Yeah? So you don’t mind?”

Without waiting for an answer, Briggs reached out. He knocked back Worth’s whiskey. Then he picked up the beer and drank it down. When it was gone, he put the mug down and made the univeral sound of the slaked: Ahhh.

“Thanks,” he said. “I needed that.”

“The money’s in the truck,” Worth said. “How do you want to do this?”

“Right. Business. That’s good.” Briggs motioned with his hand. “I need your keys.”

“My keys? Why?”

“Because I said so.”

When Worth didn’t respond, Briggs put his hand in his coat pocket. He took out a small automatic pistol, put it in his left hand. He put his right elbow on the table, shielding the gun from view of the rest of the bar. He pressed the muzzle into Gwen’s ribs.

Gwen looked at Worth. Her eyes widened slightly; other than that, her expression didn’t change.

“Keys,” Briggs said.

Worth dug in his own pocket and put the keys to the truck on the table.

“Thanks.” Briggs picked them up and put them in his pocket. “Gotta go.”

“You’re taking my truck?”

“Yeah, okay. You’re right. That’s not fair.” Briggs tossed his own keys on the table. “Better?”

Under the pounding noise from the jukebox, Gwen said, “Take that fucking gun out of my armpit.”

Worth looked at her. She was looking at Briggs, but she was talking to him. To the wire. To the guys in the van.

Briggs just smiled. His swollen lips made something grotesque out of the expression.

But he took the gun away, put it back in his pocket, shook his head and said, “Baby, I like you.”

“Really? I hope you die.”

“You should come with me,” he said. “I’ll show you what you’re missing.”

She spat a laugh in his face.

“Hell, I’ll even share the money with you.”

“Not a chance.”

“Have it your way.” Briggs chuckled. “How ’bout a little kiss good-bye?”

Gwen looked right at him, gray eyes flaring. Nothing you say or do means a thing.

Tony Briggs dropped Worth a wink. “Take notes here, brother.”

He leaned over and kissed her, fat lips and all. One hand went behind her head, pulling her in. One hand went under the table. Gwen sucked in a short breath, eyes widening again.

Over by the bar, some drunk fell off his stool, hauling a tray full of empty beer mugs with him. The drunk hit the floor in a clatter of wood and the crash of shattering glass.

When Worth looked back, Tony Briggs was already out of the booth, head down, slipping away through the crowd.

33

“He’s on the way out,” Worth said to his shirt. “Taking my truck. Over.”

“Matthew?”

He lost Briggs in the clog of people standing around the end of the bar. “Coming to you right now.”

“Matthew?”

Gwen had an odd look on her face. Her eyes seemed frozen, vaguely perplexed. She opened her mouth and shut it again.

“Gwen, what’s the matter?”

She looked down at herself. He heard a noise over the music and realized it was Gwen, staring at her lap, sounding a high, strangled note of distress.

Worth leaned forward quickly. The moment he looked over the edge of the table, his guts turned cold.

Just below her breasts, Gwen’s T-shirt was soaked through with blood. The lap of her jeans looked slick.

“Oh, Jesus.” Worth vaulted out of his side of the booth.

Gwen began to grasp at the knife handle sticking out of her belly. He gently pulled her hands away.

“No, sweetie. Don’t grab it, okay?”

She made a high-pitched, awful sound.

It reminded him of the only animal he’d ever killed on purpose. The winter he’d turned twelve years old, on his best friend’s uncle’s farm: a cottontail rabbit with a .22 rifle.

“Medical,” he yelled into his shirt.

Nobody had ever told him about the death squeal a rabbit made. After hearing it once, Worth had never harmed an animal again.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “Look at me, sweetie. Here we go.”