“And I liked him more than I like you,” I said. “Not by much, mind you. I mean, he was a scumbag, you’re a scumbag, it’s sort of like having to choose between two types of crotch rot. But still, he was poor, no education, society had shown him in a million different ways how little a fuck it gave about him. But you, Trevor, you’ve had everything a man could want. And it wasn’t enough. You still bought your wife like she was a sow at the county fair. You still took a baby you brought into the world and turned it into a monster. This guy I was talking about? He was responsible for the death of at least twenty people, that I know of. Probably a lot more. And I put him down like a dog. Because that’s what he deserved. But you? With a calculator, I bet you couldn’t add up all the people whose deaths you’ve been responsible for, whose lives you’ve destroyed or made unbearable over the years.”

“So you’d put me down like a dog, Mr. Kenzie?” He smiled.

I shook my head. “No. More like a sand shark you catch when you’re deep-sea fishing. I’d haul you onto the boat, club you until you were stunned. Then I’d open up your belly and toss you back into the water, watch as the bigger sharks came and ate you alive.”

“My, my,” he said. “Wouldn’t that be a sight?”

Desiree crossed back to us. “Having fun, gentlemen?”

“Mr. Kenzie was just explaining to me the subtleties of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto Number Two in F major. He truly revolutionized my perception of it, darling.”

She slapped his temple. “That’s nice, Daddy.”

“So, what are you planning to do with us?” he said.

“You mean after I kill you?”

“Well, I was wondering about that. I don’t see why you would need to confer with my beloved servant, Mr. Archerson, if all was going according to plan. You’re meticulous, Desiree, because I trained you to be so. If you needed to confer with Mr. Archerson, there must be a proverbial fly in the ointment.” He looked at me. “Would it have something to do with the wily Mr. Kenzie?”

“Wily,” I said. “That’s twice now.”

“It’ll grow on you,” he assured me.

“Patrick,” Desiree said, “you and I do have some things to discuss, don’t we?” She turned her head. “Julian, will you take Mr. Stone to the pantry and lock him in?”

“The pantry!” Trevor cried. “I love the pantry. All those canned goods.”

Julian placed his hands on Trevor’s shoulders. “You know my strength, sir. Don’t make me use it.”

“Wouldn’t think of it,” Trevor said. “To the canned goods, Julian. Posthaste.”