If he tells me once more… Baker thought.

“You come over here with me,” he whispered to Muhallal as he directed his men to spread out on either side of the front door.

Always a good idea to keep the guy paying the bills out of the line of fire.

He gave Briggs the go-ahead. The big guy pushed open the door and leaped inside with his weapon ranging back and forth before him. The others rushed in behind him.

Baker waited half a minute or so with Muhallal, watching the lights go on all through the house, then motioned him to follow him inside.

Was this where the Clayton broad’s muscle lived? Place looked like a dump.

“Front bedroom clear,” said Briggs, emerging from a hallway.

“Rear bedroom clear,” said Toro, following him.

Seconds later Kenny pounded up the stairs from the basement and came through the kitchen. “Cellar’s deserted,” he said.

“What the fuck?” Baker said, scratching his head. He stepped to the far end of the dining area and pulled up a window. He had a bad moment when he didn’t see Barlowe and DeMartini—had they ended up like Mott and Richards?—but then he spotted them.

“Anybody come out the back?” he called.

“Negative,” Barlowe said.

Baker turned and looked around. “Shit. We know they were in here. We saw them.”

He saw the Arab fucker watching him,, judging him. If he blew this and let them get away…

“Hey, looky here,” said Perkowski from the hall. He was pointing the barrel of his weapon at a string hanging from the ceiling.

“Well, well, well,” Baker said as he brushed past Muhallal for a closer look. “What have we here? Looks like we got us a pull-down staircase.”

“Looks like we got us a wall safe too,” said Briggs as he pulled a black velvet painting of a tiger off the living room wall.

“We’ll check it later,” Baker said. “Right now, I think we’ve got a certain rat cornered real good.”

He wanted this guy… wanted him sooo bad.

He raised his Tec and gave Perkowski the go-ahead to pull the string. “Do it.”

Perkowski pulled and the ceiling door swung down.

Baker crouched, ready to fire at the first sound, the first sight of anything threatening. But nothing moved in that rectangle of darkness.

Perkowski unfolded the attached ladder. As it hit the floor, something black started sliding down a track fixed to the upper rungs.

Baker took a second or two to recognize the thing as a little cannon.

“Back!” he shouted.

… And felt foolish when the little cannon reached the end of its track and stopped with a jolt, popping a red flag from its muzzle.

Yellow letters spelled out, “bang!”

Wait till I get you, fucker, Baker thought, glaring up the ladder as Perkowski and Toro laughed. Put the hurt on you… big time.

“Got ourselves a comedian, we do,” Perkowski said.