“I could offer up several clichés—don’t judge a book by its cover, big things come in small packages—but really, wouldn’t that just go over your head?”

“You being funny?”

“Evidently not.”

Beefy lowered his brow in a Neanderthal frown. “You armed?”

“No,” Win said, pounding his chest. “Me Win. You armed?”

“Huh?”

Sigh. “No, we are not armed.”

“We’re gonna search you. Thoroughly.”

Win winked at Beefy. “I was counting on that, big boy.”

Beefy took a step back. “Get the hell out of the car before I put a hole in your head. Now.”

Homophobia. Still gets to them every time.

Usually Myron joined Win in these fearless taunts, but this situation seemed too out of control. Win left the keys in the ignition. He and Myron stepped out of the car. Beefy told them where to stand. They did as he asked. The other two men opened the back door and used straight razors to free Evan Crisp from the plastic restraints. Crisp rubbed the circulation back into his wrists. He walked over to Win and stood directly in front of him. The two men stared each other down.

“Can’t sneak up on me this time,” Crisp said.

Win gave him the smile. “Would you like to go, Crisp?”

“Very much. But right now time is short, so I’ll just have my boys here hold a gun on your friend while I pop you one. Just a little payback.”

“Mr. Ache gave specific instructions,” Beefy said. “No damaging the goods until he talks to them. Follow me.”

Beefy led the way. Myron and Win were first. Crisp and the two goons took the back. Up ahead Myron could see the dark baronial mansion that one old mobster described as “Transylvania Classic.” It fit. Man, Myron thought, it had been a big night for huge, creepy homes. As they walked, Myron swore he could hear the long-dead call out a warning.

Beefy took them through the back entrance into a mudroom. He had them walk through a metal detector, then he double-checked them with a security wand. Myron tried to remain calm, wondering where Win had hidden the weapon. There was no way he would go into this situation without one.

When he was done with the wand, Beefy did a rough handsearch on Myron. Then he moved on to Win, taking longer.

Win said, “Thorough as promised. Is there a tip jar?”

“Funny guy,” Beefy said. When he was done, Beefy took a step back and opened a closet door. He took out two gray sweat suits. “Strip down to nothing. Then you can put these on.”

“Are those one-hundred-percent cotton?” Win asked. “I have very sensitive skin, not to mention a reputation for haute couture.”

“Funny guy,” Beefy said again.