“Yes. You see, we aren’t alone.” I gestured behind me. “I have a friend in the darkness who’s helping me. And making an audio recording of all this.”

His single “Ha!” rang off the rafters from where the light was coming. “What do you have…besides your raving, your ranting, and your stupid suppositions? I haven’t admitted to anything. And I’m not about to.”

I got out the .45. “Sure of that?”

His smile disappeared but he remained calm. “Quite sure, Hammer. You waving your phallic symbol around to make up for your shortcomings does not impress me.”

“Did you happen to read the papers yesterday? Catch the TV news, maybe?”

“What if I did?”

“It must have caught your attention. I’m referring to the coverage about your other accomplice—you remember, the one you haven’t killed yet?”

He reddened. About time. “You are out of your fucking mind, Hammer.”

“So some people say. Vinnie, I’m talking about Harry Strutt. Your stunt man instructor. You must have seen it—made page three of the News—four dead bodies in that farmhouse where Harry lives. I wonder who could have killed them?”

His eyes widened.

I went on: “They were a notorious bank robbery crew, you know. Some spirited citizen performed a public service, I’d say.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you would.”

“Funny, though—your buddy Strutt wasn’t one of the victims. He must have got away.”

“Good for him.”

Another spotlight came down from above and its glow fell on a new member of our little cast. Maybe ten feet from us—bound into a chair, legs tied to the rungs, hands behind him, in a gray sweatshirt and sweat pants—was a familiar figure, easily identified despite the duct tape gag over his mouth and his bloodied, battered face.

“Harry!” Colby blurted.

I walked casually over, perhaps five feet from the newcomer. “You won’t have to kill him, Vinnie. That wouldn’t be deserving. You see, he was true to you. Loyal as the day is long. No matter what I tried, he refused to talk. He just would not sell you out. Still, he is a loose end and that’s a problem. So I’ll take care of it for you.”

I fired at the bound man’s chest—two shots whose echoing roars rang in the vast space, as the impact shook him in the chair, blood exploding out of him, two red flowering bursts in front but, in back, twin geysers carrying globs of bone and gore into the darkness, making little thumps and thuds and splishes on the floor, tiny things not at all commensurate with the big damage done.

Colby was on his feet, his arms and hands outstretched, as if there was something to be done, but there wasn’t.