“I’m not here to pick anything up,” Rickard grunted. He looked around the office, his eyes drifting over the faded posters to the open door into a small warehouse. There appeared to be nobody else there.

“You want to send something, you have to do it via a carrier.” She took the cigarette out of her mouth, flicked ash into a ringed coffee mug. Then she stuck the cigarette back between her lips and sat staring up at him through the smoke.

Rickard ignored her and reached over her desk. He grabbed hold of her handbag and dragged it toward him. The woman lunged for the bag, digging her nails into his hands. She let out a shout of outrage but still managed to hold on to the cigarette like it was fused to her lip. Rickard wrenched loose, scowling at the scratches in his flesh. He’d just fought a gun battle, killed six or so people without a scratch, and now this?

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

The woman clawed at her bag again but Rickard snatched it out of her way. He dug inside it. Came out empty. He upended the contents on her desk.

“Where are the keys to your car?”

“You’re not having them. Get out now before I call the police.” The woman made to drag her personal belongings across the desk. Among the dross was a mobile phone. As she did, Rickard grabbed her by her hair, using the tail at the back to twist her head sharply on one side.

“Where are your keys, bitch?” From his belt he drew the ceramic knife and thumbed it open. He placed the point as close to her right eye as possible without blinding her. Then he nudged it a little more. The woman shrieked, all her toughness gone. She flailed at Rickard’s hands trying to get away from the blade but he just gripped her all the tighter.

“If you want to keep your other eye, you’ll tell me where they are.”

Between howling in terror and trying to wrench away, she dug a hand into her sweatshirt pocket and pulled out a bundle of keys. The ring was overloaded with small stuffed animals and Disney character fobs. Rickard released her and she bent over, holding her damaged eye with both hands as she sobbed. He looked at the frippery then tore loose the accumulated keepsakes and scattered them across the desk. He held up the key for the Ford Focus parked outside in the depot lot.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

The woman moaned.

“Look at me.”

“I’m blind!”

“You still have one good eye. Tell me what you see.”