“Thinking about flipping me down ahead of you, John?”

“No,” he said through gritted teeth. “No.”

“Good,” I said. “That’d be real dumb.”

He went slack in my arm, and I leaned him forward again and we walked down the rest of the staircase. His blood and sweat mixture had found the arm of my topcoat and formed a moist, rusty stain.

“You ruined my topcoat, John.”

He glanced at my arm. “It’ll come out.”

“It’s blood. On virgin wool, John.”

“A good dry cleaner though, you know…”

“I hope so,” I said. “Because if it doesn’t, I have your wallet. Which means I know where you live. Think about that, John.”

We stopped at the door leading to the entrance foyer.

“You thinking about it, John?”

“Yeah.”

“There going to be anyone waiting for us outside?”

“I don’t know. Cops maybe.”

“I don’t have a problem with cops,” I said. “I’d love to get arrested right now, John. You understand?”

“I guess.”

“What I’m concerned about, John, is a bunch of grief-stricken behemoths like Manny waiting out on Beacon Street with more guns than I have.”

“What do you want me to say here?” he said. “I don’t know what’s waiting out there. I’m the one who’ll catch the first bullet anyway.”

I tapped his chin with my gun. “And the second, John. Remember that.”

“Who the hell are you, man?”

“I’m the really scared guy with the fifteen-bullet clip. That’s who. What’s the deal with this place? Is it a cult?”

“No way,” he said. “You can shoot me, but I’m not telling you shit.”

“Desiree Stone,” I said. “You know her, John?”

“Pull the trigger, man. I ain’t talking.”

I leaned in close, looked at his profile, at his left eye skittering in the socket.

“Where is she?” I said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I didn’t have time to question him or beat the answer out of him now. All I had was his wallet, and that would have to be good enough for a second round with John at a future date.

“Let’s hope this isn’t the last minute of our lives, John,” I said and pushed him into the foyer ahead of me.

7

The front door of Grief Release, Inc., was black birch without so much as an eyehole glass in its center. To the right of the door was brick, but to the left were two small rectangles of green glass, thick and fogged over by a combination of icy wind outside and warm air inside.