Ellie didn’t move, staring at the floor. She’d spotted a couple of Anton’s teeth scattered in blood pooled on the floor around the chair.

The man from upstairs, Billy, was suddenly standing next to her. She hadn’t heard him come down. He placed a hand on the small of her back and urged her forward.

“Have her stand in front of him, Billy,” Sebastian said. “And be careful of the blood—I don’t want her to slip and fall.” Then, to Ellie: “Sorry to have you get so close, but Anton’s having a little problem in the sight department. You okay to stand, Faye? Or would you like a chair?”

Anton’s head twitched when he heard her name. A low, guttural moan escaped his throat. Strings of red saliva poured from the torn, swollen mess of what remained of his bottom lip. He tried to look up, couldn’t because of the pain or effort or both, and his head slumped forward again, his chin resting on his chest, near a tattoo of a heart wrapped in barbed wire.

“You look like you could sit,” Sebastian said when Ellie didn’t answer his question. “Billy, go upstairs and fetch that chair.”

Ellie now stood less than five feet away from Anton, gagging from the stomach-churning stench and god-awful carnage when Frank came in from the kitchen, holding a large glass bottle of Pellegrino. He drank deeply from it as he strolled across the room and moved behind Anton’s chair. He leaned forward to put down his bottle, and when he straightened she saw a cordless drill gripped in his hand. The drill bit was long and thick and covered with blood and bits of skin—Anton’s skin. Anton’s blood.

Frank hiccupped. “Excuse me,” he said, then pressed a fist against his mouth as he sucked in air through his nose and held it.

Billy set up the folding chair behind her. Ellie sat, grateful to no longer be standing, but she continued to sway, like she was on a boat going through choppy water. She gripped the edges of the chair with her sweaty hands as Sebastian got down on one knee beside her. He draped an arm across the back of her chair.

“Now,” Sebastian said to her. “The gentleman he met yesterday, the person you said he called Paul—Anton here tells me he has no idea where Paul is. Says he hasn’t seen Paul or his muscle-loving butt buddy, a guy named Bradley Guidry. Was he there yesterday, Faye?”

Ellie’s eyes never left Anton. “I . . . I don’t know. He . . .”

“He what?”

Ellie swallowed, feeling cold all over. “There was a guy there, a driver, and some other guy who was watching us. A sniper.”

Out of the corner of her eye Ellie saw Sebastian exchange a glance with Frank.

Ellie said, “I’m telling you the truth.”

“Oh, I believe you.”

“I never saw him. I don’t know his name.”

“That would be Mr. Guidry. Like you, Anton says he’s never even heard the name before. I respectfully called bullshit, and Anton respectfully disagreed, leading to the mess you see here.” Sebastian sighed, shook his head. “He should get an Olympic medal for being a stubborn bastard. He comes by it naturally, though, him and his Communist people. Isn’t that right, Anton?”