“You think you’re smart, don’t you? Well, you’ve got a lot to learn, Mayor. You think you saw some shit over in Houston? Well, you didn’t. That’s bush league over there, and you’re about to find it out.”

Steeling my muscles, I try to hurl us both away from the wall, but Regan has such a bind on me that I can’t muster sufficient leverage. His knee digs deeper into my spine, which feels on the verge of snapping. Laughing, he lowers his voice to an intimate whisper.

“Everything you said out there,” he hisses, “you got from Glenn Morehouse, and that fat-ass is dead as a hammer. All you did today is guarantee your little girl’s gonna grow up an orphan—if she makes it herself. Your old man’s as good as dead already, and you’re next. It won’t be quick, either, I promise you that. It’ll be more pain than you think a human body can stand. I’ve had a lot of practice killing slow. You’ll beg me to finish you.” Again the knee digs into my spine. “And after I’m done? I’m gonna send your little girl the pictures. How does that sound, Mayor?”

He wrenches my neck backward, and something pops near the middle of my spine. Then he lets me fall and backs out of the stall.

I clutch the toilet paper dispenser to stay erect, and it’s all I can do to keep from collapsing over the commode.

Regan grabs a handful of paper towels and throws them at me, laughing. “You pissed yourself, Mayor. Better clean up before you go out there to your adoring fans.”

Gripping the top of one of the stall walls, I manage to pull myself to a standing position. Regan watches me with animal curiosity, his wild eyes showing genuine pleasure. His blitz attack scrambled my higher thought processes, but my lower brain functions are still active. Fight-or-flee chemicals course through me like amphetamines, and Regan has barred the way to flight. As I stand paralyzed, the atavistic core of my being speaks in the voice of my old friend Daniel Kelly.

When it’s life or death, forget the eyes, the balls, and all the rest of that crap they teach women. When it counts, there’s only one target—

Knowing I must draw Regan closer, I begin to laugh. First a chuckle, then a snigger that grows into a hysterical cackle, like something out of a horror movie.

“What the fuck you laughing at?” he growls, obviously annoyed. “Freak. I think your damn egg got shook.”

My brittle laughter bounces off the mirror, filling the little room. “You’d better get moving. The FBI’s got everything you just said. You should have left while you were ahead.”

Regan’s eyes narrow. He steps forward as though to give me another blow.