“It shouldn’t,” Ricci said. “The timing of what happened puts us on the spot. You know the game. The territory we cover, you’ll find plenty of uglies who’d love to see us skip out from a threat. That would be giving them what they want.”

“Notice we can be intimidated.”

Ricci nodded.

“This is bigger than Gabon,” he said. “If I were in Gordian’s position, I’d do the same as him. He’s got to hang tough.”

“With some extra manpower to protect him, I hope.”

“A fresh Sword detail’s flying out,” Ricci said. “He’ll be fixed okay.”

“You mean to join them?”

Ricci shook his head again.

“Pete Nimec can handle whatever comes up,” he said. “Better I stay out of his hair, mind the family farm. That way we’ve got all fronts covered.”

Glenn lipped his cigarette, reached both hands into his pants pockets, and fished out a couple of quarters.

“Makes enough sense,” he said. “There’s nowhere you can feel safe these days. Sometimes I think we’re all stuck in the land of Nod.”

Ricci’s face showed incomprehension.

“You know,” Glenn said. “It’s from the Bible. Book of Genesis: ‘And Cain went out from the presence of the Lord, and dwelt in the land of Nod, on the east of Eden.’ ”

Ricci shrugged a little. “Religion’s never been one of my vices.”

Glenn gave him a look.

“I don’t suppose,” he said.

There was a brief silence between them.

“My offer,” Ricci said. “You interested?”

Glenn shook his head no.

Ricci looked straight into his eyes.

“Seems like a fast decision,” he said.

“Fast, yeah,” Glenn said. “That doesn’t have to mean arbitrary.”

Ricci kept watching him across the table several moments, then nodded slightly.

“No,” he said. “Guess it doesn’t.”

Glenn finished off his stout, went to get himself a second. Before returning to their booth he stopped at the juke, dropped in his quarters, and punched in some selections.

“Can’t find many bargains around these days,” he said, sliding back opposite Ricci. “Fifty cents for three good spins on the box is one of the few left.”

Ricci’s lack of response opened out another spell of silence between them.

Glenn drank his beer, swayed a little to the music in the background. A female vocalist sang to the accompaniment of a piano, its fills running smoothly around her nuanced phrasings.

“The song’s ‘When October Goes,’ ” Glenn said after a while. “Singer’s Mary Wells. Lyrics by Bobby Mercer, music by Barry Manilow. Nice.” He paused and took a deep swallow of beer. “I’ve dug Manilow since I was in high school.”

Ricci looked at him.

“You going to explain your turndown?”

Glenn shook another cigarette from the pack near his elbow, lighted it with a Bic disposable, and sat there smoking. The Marlboro’s tip flared on his deep inhale.