“Herman may have agreed for a little while, but not in the long run. You know that. The moment we discovered Wire was dead it became us or him. He would never let us live, holding that over his head.”

“But killing Herman Ache”—Myron shook his head, trying to clear it—“even you don’t just walk away from that.”

“Don’t worry about that right now.”

Crisp stayed statue-still on his knees, hands on his head.

“So what now?” Myron asked.

“Perhaps,” Win said, “I’ll kill our friend Mr. Crisp here. In for a penny, in for a pound.”

Crisp closed his eyes. Myron said, “Win?”

“Ah, don’t worry,” Win said, keeping the gun trained on Crisp’s head. “Mr. Crisp is merely a hired hand. You have no loyalty to Herman Ache, do you?”

Crisp finally broke his silence. “I don’t, no.”

“There then.” Win looked at Myron. “Go ahead. Ask him.”

Myron moved in front of Evan Crisp. Crisp looked up and met his eye.

“How did you do it?” Myron asked.

“Do what?”

“How did you kill Suzze?”

“I didn’t.”

“Well,” Win said. “Now we’re both lying.”

Crisp said, “What?”

“You’re lying about not killing Suzze,” Win said. “And I was lying about not killing you.”

Somewhere in the distance a grandfather clock started chiming. Herman Ache continued to bleed out on the floor, an almost perfect circular puddle of blood surrounding his head.

“My theory,” Win said, “is that you were not merely a hired hand on this but more likely a full partner. It doesn’t matter, really. You’re a very dangerous man. You don’t like that I got the better of you. If our roles were reversed, I wouldn’t like it either. So you know already. I can’t let you survive to fight another day.”

Crisp turned his head to look up at Win. He tried to meet Win’s eyes, as though that would help. It wouldn’t. But Myron could smell the fear on Crisp now. You could be tough. You could be the hardest guy around. But when you stare death in the face, only one thought comes to mind: I don’t want to die. The world becomes very simple. Survive. We don’t pray in foxholes because we are ready to meet our Maker. We pray because we don’t want to.

Crisp searched for a way out. Win waited, seeming to enjoy the moment. Win had cornered his prey and now it was as though he were playing with it.

“Help!” Crisp yelled. “They shot Herman!”

“Please.” Win looked bored. “That won’t do any good.”

Crisp’s eyes widened in confusion, but Myron saw it. There was only one way Win could have gotten that weapon: He had inside help.

Beefy.

Beefy had put the gun in Win’s sweat suit.