'Think about it,' Mia continued. 'Sam's Sam, but what about the others, hmm? If they're so keen to keep everything about Neil quiet, do you actually think they plan on bringing him in?'

'But they gotta,' Thomas said, blinking back tears. Frankie…

'Do they?'

They locked eyes.

Thomas looked away, down to his all-too-empty hands. 'So what the fuck am I supposed to do?'

Mia glanced wildly around the kitchen, as though looking for a utensil that could solve their problem. 'You gotta do it yourself,' he said distractedly, as though the matter had already been settled. Before Thomas could protest, his neighbor strode to the far end of the kitchen and yanked open the basement door. Without a word, he plunged out of sight.

Thomas followed him to the crest of the steps. He heard boxes skidding across cement, but saw only shadows in the dusty yellow light below.

'Here!' Mia called, swinging into view at the bottom of the steps. He tossed something up through the musty air. Thomas caught it despite the helium in his hands. A roll of duct tape.

'What's this? You think Neil has weapons of mass destruction?'

'No. To immobilize him. You need to bring him in alive, right?'

'So what? I sneak up behind him and pounce on him with tape? He's an armed and dangerous murderer, Mia, not an evil fucking Christmas present.'

Was he actually considering this madness?

Frankie…

Screaming and screaming.

'Hold on,' Mia said, disappearing again. This time he returned after only a moment. He began bounding up the steps. Thomas stumbled backward across the kitchen. His neighbor had a gun.

'Mia? What the fuck…'

'Take it,' Mia said, holding it out. The gun-metal seemed curiously leaden in the kitchen light, like a dead animal's eyes. 'Take it, Tommy. This is Frankie we're talking about here. Frankie.'

His heart pounding, Thomas reached out and clutched the revolver. It was sweaty cold, but lighter than it appeared—giddy light, even though it looked like something carved from uranium.

Thomas began shaking. Where had Control gone?

Your pocket, a voice whispered.

'So I give you my daughter,' he said, swallowing, 'and you give me duct tape and a gun?'

Mia began wagging a reproving finger, but dropped it. 'You're right,' he said. Without explanation, he dashed back down into the basement, nearly toppled down the final steps.

'Mia?' Thomas stood at the crest, dumbfounded. 'Mia!'

Moments later, the wiry man came bounding back up the stairs.

'Here,' he said breathlessly, holding out his hands. Bullets lay cupped like pistachios in his palms. 'Ammunition.'

Thomas clutched them, began fumbling them into his blazer pockets. 'Fair trade, I guess.'

I'm holding a gun!

He had no idea what he was doing. But he was doing it. Dead weight on the move.