I’m not easily surprised, but I stand flat-footed and stare at the man for a good two or three seconds. Jimmy’s daughter is not an identifier anybody uses to describe me. So it takes me a bit to realize the man is holding Wilson on his lap, both hands around the dog’s small body.

I drop my beer and draw my CZ. The silencer is still attached and adds an extra half-second to my draw time, but the man doesn’t move a muscle, except to smile. I aim my pistol at his forehead. “Let go of the dog,” I say.

“Who, Wilson?” The man looks down at Wilson, the smile still on his face. “He’s pretty happy where he is.”

I realize the man isn’t holding Wilson against his will; instead, he’s petting him, one hand rubbing behind Wilson’s ears, the other hand stroking his belly. Wilson thumps his tail when he sees me but otherwise lies prostrate on the man’s lap, in a happy dog coma.

I take a step forward so I’m directly behind the couch, eight feet away from the seated man, pistol still aimed at him. “Put him down. Now.”

The man mock-frowns, the smile still on his face. “If that’s what you want.” He gives Wilson a final pat and then with both hands lifts him off his lap. Wilson grunts in displeasure. The man sets Wilson down on the floor, then sits back in the chair, hands on the armrests, in clear view and empty.

“Come here, Wilson,” I say.

Wilson wags his tail twice, then looks up at the man in the chair. A whine starts in his throat.

“Wilson!” I snap.

Head down, Wilson trots over to me, then hides his embarrassment by pretending to sniff around the couch.

The man in the chair displays his open hands. “I just want to talk. I’m unarmed.”

Ethan jerks forward in his seat. “Don’t,” he says.

The man and I both look at him.

Ethan winces apologetically. “Sorry, it’s just … that quote. ‘I’m unarmed.’ From Serenity, the movie?”

The man shakes his head. “I must have missed that one.”

“Sci-fi flick,” I say. “The bad guy tells the good guy, Mal, he wants to solve their problems peacefully, like civilized men. Tells Mal he’s unarmed. Mal says, ‘Good,’ then shoots the bad guy.”

The man’s smile widens. “I suppose I’m the bad guy in this scenario.”

I shrug. “You’re the one who said you’re unarmed.”

“Suzie,” Ethan says, his voice strained. “You should listen to him.”

“I don’t want to,” I say, my pistol still pointed at the man’s head. “I’ve had to listen to a lot of assholes lately. And this one threatened you, then choked me out last night. I’m not too keen on listening to his sad tale of woe.”