No doubt a few Riders hoping Sam was taking a late evening stroll.

Alan folded his arms, the white shirt pulling tight against his dark skin.

‘It checks out.’

‘Mr Cooper it is then,’ Sinclair grumbled. ‘A word of advice, Mr Cooper. Stay away from Alex Stone. Stay away from the Riders. We have been working on this case for months and we are this close to burying them under that godforsaken bar. This little incident in the Bronx, call it a freebie. You get involved again, and I’ll bury you with them. Is that understood? We both have too much riding on it for some rogue wildcard to fuck things up. Is that understood?’

Sam looked up at Alan and then at Sinclair, and gave them a phony salute.

‘Loud and clear.’ He then nodded to Alan. ‘Ex-military?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Your arm.’ Sam pointed to the right bicep as he stood. ‘I can see your tattoo.’

‘Marine Corps. Eleven years’ service,’ Alan said proudly. ‘You?’

‘Like I said, I’m just an old friend.’

Sam winked at Alan as he approached the door, and he stepped out into the cool evening. The echoes of The Pit hummed dimly in the distance, and Sam had no idea where they’d driven him. The car park was vast, yet empty, and at the far end, a large Walmart loomed, casting a shadow across the tarmac. Sam turned back to the van, where Sinclair stood, his hand on the door.

‘Remember what I said, Mr Cooper,’ Sinclair said as reached for the sliding door. ‘I’m a man of my word.’

The door slammed shut, and the van rumbled before pulling away, a fake business name plastered across the side panel. As it sped towards the exit of the car park, Sam watched it, committing everything he’d seen inside to memory.

The files they had on the Riders, a few more on Vasquez, the man Wyatt had told him about.

The government issued Glock 17 that hung in the holster that was strapped to Alan’s rib cage.

The name of the bar on the box of matches Sinclair had used.

All of it, no matter how irrelevant, would be stored away. Sam’s mind was on the brink of being photographic, but his attention and absorption of detail was a skill that had made him such a deadly soldier.

The situation had escalated, with Alex now in the middle of either an impending drug war or a DEA bust.

Either way, her desperation to get her family back had her dangling too close to the edge for her to claw her way back.

Not without Sam.

Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets and began the walk back towards town, using pigeon’s instinct to guide him to the high street and from there, he would remember the route back to the motel.

He needed to clear his head.

Plot his next move.