Gunther pulled up on a jointed latch, opened the truck’s cargo door, and turned on a battery-powered electric lantern that stood on the truck bed’s floor. It was surprisingly powerful and revealed the truck to be completely empty. “Sit down in the front there,” he said. “It’s a good night for a little drive.”

To where? I wondered. What canyon or cliff? Or would they simply drive the truck off the edge of Treasure Island?

Gail and I stepped up into the truck and Gunther followed, walking us to the front of the trailer. I knew this would be my only chance. If I could overpower him and get his gun, I could shoot it out with Martha, using Gunther as a shield. Not that I thought Martha would have any hesitation about shooting him. I simply thought that he might be able to catch a bullet for me. I felt fine with that.

I appraised Gunther. In a fair fight, I could easily take him. My additional advantage was that I’d be fighting for Gail’s life and mine. That was a terrific edge for me. He had a gun. That was a far more terrific edge for him.

I figured, in the half second that it took me to reason all this, what any private detective would have known off the bat. The gun was the target, not Gunther. I’d always been pretty good at pool, and I tried quickly to calculate the angles. Gunther was directly behind me. The Luger was in his right hand. Gail was on my right. If I swung counterclockwise and pushed his arm aside, he might fire and hit Gail. I’d have to swing around to my right and push his right arm across his own body so that the gun pointed toward his left.

“Listen, Gail, honey,” I said caringly, “always remember ottava bassa.” It was musical nomenclature for dropping a note down an octave.

“What’s that?” Gunther demanded.