“What do you want me to do about it?”

“I was hoping you might have a suggestion,” Stone said.

“Well, I’ve been working on this for some time now, and I’m attracted to the idea of ending the twins’ time on the planet. So why don’t you just tell Dr. Peterson to fuck off?”

“It would be rude to say that to a man who’s giving me three point five million,” Stone said.

“Are you saying that if I kill the twins before Peterson gives you the money, he might just drive off into the sunset, leaving you holding the real estate?”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but now that you mention it . . . That would be a consideration.”

“Well, if we wait until after Peterson hands you the cash, he would take possession right away, wouldn’t he?”

“I expect so.”

“Then that would rob us—and by ‘us,’ I mean me—of the ideal shooting platform, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Of course, we could just leave the good doctor to clean up the situation for us, right?”

“Maybe.”

“‘Maybe’ is what I think, too. You know, dermatology is not, as I recall, one of the martial arts.”

“It is not.”

“So what if he misses? Or worse, what if he hits one twin, but not both?”

“Not desirable,” Stone admitted.

“Do we have any information on whether Dr. Peterson has ever squeezed the trigger of a loaded weapon?”

“We do not.”

“Or whether he has served in the military?”

“Not that, either.”

“If he has served in the military, and if we could somehow come across his service record, then we might learn how he fared on the rifle range.”

“I wouldn’t know how to access a man’s service record,” Stone said.

“I would,” Dino interjected. “But I’d have to go through channels, and in doing so would leave fingerprints.”

“Do you have any other biographical information that might help me pick him out of a lineup of a great many other Petersons?” Ed asked.

Stone thought about that. “His middle name is Ames. Betcha there aren’t too many Smith Ames Petersons.”

“It’s worth a stab,” Ed said. “Let me go rub my computer’s belly and see if it will cough up something to guide us.” Rawls left them.

“Okay,” Dino said when he had gone. “Suppose Ed comes up with a service record that says the guy can fire a rifle without shooting himself in the foot? What then?”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” Stone said.

52

Stone and Dino had been admiring the view for a quarter of an hour before Ed returned and dragged up his chair and shuffled through some papers he held in his hand.

“Well?” Stone asked after a while.

“Well . . . This Peterson is quite a fella.”

“We’re not looking for a character reference,” Stone said.

“Well, if you were, you’d get a glowing one.”