Snake said nothing. He would not speak until Lars Dempsey did. All five men wore riding leathers: chaps and jackets, and each of the jackets had VK emblazoned on the right arm.

The founder of the Varangian Kindred scratched his beard and said, “You blew up my safe.”

“The retard there hid my passport in it.”

“What if he did that on my orders?”

“Then you blew up your own safe.”

Lars sniffed and thought about this. “Why’d you split the sod farm?”

“I got tired of this fool playing with his knife. If I’d stayed any longer, I’d have cut his nose off with it.”

Toons took a step forward, but Dempsey stopped him with a raised hand.

“What do you want from us?” Lars asked. “You must have a reason for this meeting.”

“I need what I needed from you at the start. Manpower. Troops.”

“For what?”

“Are you still watching the old Eagles for me?”

“Some. Not so much, since you bugged out.”

“I need you to get back to it. ASAP.”

“Why would we do that?”

“To get what you got into business with me for in the first place.”

“You’ve been kind of slow coming across with that.”

“Let’s get something straight,” Snake said. “You ain’t a high school quarterback and I ain’t no cheerleader. We got a deal. You’re gettin’ itchy. But you’ve moved more weight over the past two months than you did in the six months before that. And I’ve taken a ton of heat off your gun trade. You’ve probably doubled your profits there, too.”

Lars said nothing, which told Snake he’d been dead-on.

“It’s not just the surveillance,” Snake said. “I need some soldiers. And not the guys trained by this clown. I need shooters. Guys who’ve been in the shit and know how to stay cool. Who can hold their fire until it’s time and won’t piss themselves when things get dicey.”

“You mouthy old fuck,” Toons said, lunging forward with a flash of steel.

“Freeze!” Lars barked.

Toons froze. “Why?” he asked, panting with rage. “We don’t need this old fool.”

“Because he’s no fool,” Lars said quietly. “Are you, Snake?”

Snake reached into his pocket and took out a quarter. He held it out to Toons.

“What the fuck is that?” Toons asked.

“Your life.”

“What?”

Snake tossed the quarter on the ground between them. Two seconds later, a rifle shot cracked through the darkness, and all five men in leathers hit the dirt. When no further shots sounded, they got to their feet, nervously looking around.

“Where’s your quarter, Toons?” Snake asked.

Toons looked down at the ground, then bent at the knee and plucked the deformed piece of metal from the dirt.