Footsteps. The handle twisted, then again. Brendan shouted, ‘Sharon. You in there?’

When she didn’t answer he said, ‘What gives? You in there?’

She could hear muffled voices behind Brendan’s, questioning his power, his methods. Sharon looked at her shoes, the scuffed leather of them. An age since she’d polished them. This decision of hers had come out of nowhere and now that she’d made it, and was following through on it, she found herself strangely peaceful, despite whatever consequences awaited.

‘You lot aren’t coming in,’ she said.

Nothing for a moment. Then, through the door, ‘What did you say?’

‘I said you’re not coming in.’

The door handle twisted again. ‘Is this a joke, Shaz?’

‘No. No joke.’

‘Are you for real?’

The door handle twisted and held––someone on the other side trying to force it.

‘Bloody hell, Sharon. Come on,’ Brendan said. The door handle almost came off with the jiggling.

Then a different voice at the door. Sharon thought it sounded like Martin, the younger one.

‘Sharon. How we going in there?’

‘I’m good, thank you.’

‘So what’s going on?’

Sharon let the gun rest on the floor. ‘You’re not coming in to beat on that old man. Not today. I’ve had enough of it.’

A moment, then, ‘You seemed eager enough to go along with it the other night.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

‘So why the change of heart?’

A deeper voice from behind Martin’s, cursing.

‘Don’t think you’re busting in here, either,’ she shouted. ‘The door’s reinforced.’

Martin laughed. ‘With what?’

‘With steel.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘It’s a police station door. Built to withstand a bit.’

‘Lying,’ Martin said again. ‘This isn’t reinforced.’ His fingers rapped on the door. ‘Nothing goes on in this town to warrant a steel door.’

Of course she was lying. It was just a wooden door. She said, ‘It was a gift from Frank when this place was built.’

‘Who’s Frank?’

‘Ask Brendan.’

‘I’m not asking Brendan, I’m asking you.’

‘Down at the hardware store.’

The voice retreated and Sharon could hear the men conferring on the other side, Brendan’s voice rarely loud enough to penetrate the door.

‘I have a gun, too, in case you forgot,’ she shouted.

‘Forget what? That you’re a cop?’ It was Judah this time, his voice closer to the door than she’d expected. It startled her. ‘I guess I did forget there for a bit. First time you’ve really acted like one. More’s the shame.’

‘You’re telling me,’ she said.

‘What did you say?’

‘It was nothing.’

A loud sigh. ‘We’re coming through this door and having at that old man whether you like it or not.’

‘You bust in this door and I’ll shoot you.’

‘You won’t shoot.’

‘Aggravated assault, forced entry. Intent.’

‘You won’t shoot.’

‘Yeah? You betting your life on that?’

‘You won’t.’

‘Do I sound like I’m joking?’

Footsteps, someone doing something. No part of Sharon believed the three of them had given up. In the distance the sound of a car boot being slammed. Sharon checked her service weapon. Made sure it sat right in her hands.