Without warning, the sneeze I’d been suppressing came bursting forth with the intensity of a machine gun blast. I hoped the noise of the belt would drown me, but two of the men were apparently just on the other side of the entrance. They called to the others, their voices all too audible. A brief argument: had they heard something or were they just imagining it?

I crouched low behind a giant metal plane. The ostrich approach. If I couldn’t see them, they wouldn’t notice me.

“Oh, for Chrissake, Gleason. Who’s gonna be here?”

“I told you the boss called, warned me that there’s been a detective snooping around. And he got wind she’s in the neighborhood tonight.”

The first speaker gave a crack of laughter. “A girl detective. I don’t know who’s a bigger fool—you or Chamfers. If it’ll make you happy we can take a look around—want to hold on to my hand?” The last words came out in an ugly jeer.

“I don’t give a fuck. You call the boss and tell him you were too chicken to look for snoopers.”

I slid my hand inside my jacket for the Smith & Wesson. A flashlight beam, industrial strength, pierced the gloom of the storage room. Footsteps approached, retreated, stirring the dust, making my nose tingle unbearably. I held my breath, my eyes tearing. I kept back the sneeze, but the movement rocked me back on my heels; my hand with the gun grazed the side of the metal plane.

The flashlight beam poked a long finger at me. The skin on my cheeks tingled and the hair stood on my arms. I watched the floor, waiting for the feet to declare the line of attack. They came from the left. I darted out to the right, into the loading area.

I was blinded at first by the brightness of the light and couldn’t make out anything. The sound was loud enough out here to drown the shouts of the men behind me. I skidded around the Paragon spool and almost bumped into two more men. They were steadying a second reel at the edge of the platform and didn’t look up, intent on fitting a sling around it. As I danced about the deck, figuring the layout, I noticed the label on the reel: COPPER WIRE. INDUSTRIAL GRADE.

“Stop her, damn you!”

The men who’d flushed me were bearing down on me. The two in front finished strapping their load and gave a signal to a crane operator on the other side of the room. They turned slowly, surprised, not believing anyone had really been in the back room.

“Now, just a minute there,” one of them said calmly.