I put the trophy in a bag and went to put the pistol (the one they’d left for me in my apartment) in next to it. I took the one I’d bought and practiced loading and unloading the clips. I did it with the three clips on the table, with the clips in my pockets, I even dropped them on the floor and tried to do it without looking. I tried not to think when I would have to do any of it; I just did it and then did it again and again. “Discipline is how you survive,” someone had said in a meeting. I suppose it’s true, but not necessarily. Some people survive on dumb luck, and some people with discipline can’t make it very far. Discipline can only take you so far, no matter what. I put the gun in the pocket of my jacket and tried to stop thinking about it. I was eating something when Casey came home. She saw the bag and said, “Is it time?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I said, “but I’ll know soon.”

“You’ll give them what they want, right?”

I nodded and looked at the bag.

“Don’t take chances on this. Okay?”

“I know,” I said. “I’m thinking the way Frank would. No chances.”

Casey looked at the bag. “Can I see what the fuss is all about?” I handed her the bag and watched her open it. There was a look of recognition on her face.

“Shit,” she said.

“You know what that is?”

She nodded.

“Well? What is it?”

“The stuff that assholes are made of,” she said.

“Don’t be clever,” I said. “Just tell me.”

“It’s a college sports thing,” Casey said. “Lacrosse. It’s a trophy a bunch of lacrosse assholes have been fighting over for about twenty years. You want to hear the whole story?”

“Not really. How do you know about it?”

“Frank. He was into lacrosse in high school for a while, really into it. Had pictures on the wall of some of these guys. He could have been a great player, but, well, you know the rest.”

“But not all of it,” I said. “He never told me any of this. None of it.”

“Maybe he was trying to protect you,” Casey said. “It had to be one of these guys who hired you, maybe that had something to do with it.” She went on talking some more, but I wasn’t listening. My phone lit up and when I looked I saw Eva’s picture. Mobley had been dumb enough to send a picture. I looked at the map and saw he was outside of town a ways. He’d been there twice today. “I’ve got to go,” I told Casey and grabbed the bag.

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

“No,” I said, “and I don’t have time to talk about it.”