“God…” Vox gasped, and he felt as if a hand were suddenly clamped around his throat.

The figure reached to the lamp on the nearby table and switched it on. In the yellow glow of the low-wattage bulb he looked calm, his face without expression, the lenses of his tinted glasses reflecting Vox’s shocked and terrified face.

“Deacon … Holy Christ, how’d you … How’d you…?” He could not finish the sentence.

Mr. Church lifted something from his lap. A coded cell phone. A purple one. “I received this in the mail. From a mutual friend.” He tossed it onto the floor between them. “My friends in the industry constantly amaze me with what they can do with reverse engineering. Even to the point of turning a simple phone into a tracking device.”

“No…” breathed Vox. Sweat burst from his pores.

Church said nothing.

“Is Toys alive? Did you kill him?”

“What does it matter to you?”

Vox wiped an arm across his face. “You know it fucking well matters.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does he matter to you, Hugo?” Church asked quietly.

Vox glared at him. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I wouldn’t?”

“No, because you’re a heartless prick, Deacon. Ask Circe. When’s the last time you told your own daughter you loved her? When’s the last time you loved anyone?”

“You’re saying that you love Toys?”

“He’s my son.”

“Really.” Church made a statement of it, not a question.

“Why the fuck do you think I did all this?”

“I know why you did this, Hugo. It’s what you do. It’s who you are.”

“You’re wrong. That may have been true when I was running the Kings, but this—this was different. I’m giving it all to Toys. Poor dumb kid found God again. Wants to devote his life to good works, corny as that shit sounds. So what can I do? I’m dead in a box in a few months. At least I can step out on a good note.”

“Please, Hugo,” said Church mildly. “It’s just the two of us here, and I think it’s past the time when you should be lying to me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Church nodded and picked up a folder from the table. He whipped it across the floor so that it skittered to a stop with one corner under the toe of Vox’s left sandal. Vox looked down at the folder but did not reach for it. Instead he kicked it away.

The label on the folder read UPIER 531.

“Christ,” Vox gasped. “How the hell do you know about that?”

Church shrugged. “I know.”

Vox said, “Toys?”

Church didn’t answer. They sat in silence for almost a minute.

“Who took my money? You or Toys?”

“Who do you think?”

“I gave him a billion frigging dollars.”