“Like hell.” The gun caught the light as Frank emerged from the shadowed area at Philip’s right, extending from the hand at Frank’s hip like a hook affixed to an amputated arm. “Your staff is working,” Frank shouted. “We watched them all come out. You’re paying them with our money.”

Philip spun to face Frank. As he saw the weapon, his hands rose in the air. “What’s with the gun?”

“You need one when dealing with a fucking thief.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Philip stepped toward the weapon, hands still in the air. “Coffre’s money went down with the restaurant. My staff is being paid off Banque’s receipts.”

“What receipts? You can’t have receipts when the restaurant’s closed.”

“We’re doing a decent takeout business.”

“Thanks to us covering the rent, even though you know that was never the deal.”

Philip took another step toward Frank, his hands still in the surrender position. “Coffre was located inside Banque. It used Banque’s kitchen. Its staff. There was no Coffre if Banque went under.”

“Bullshit,” Frank said. “You should have prorated the cost of the space, and you know it. The deal was never for our money to bail out the bigger restaurant. Our investment was to make sure Coffre could run for twelve months at a loss. The bar was open for fucking four. You owe us two-thirds of the money that we laid out. At least.”

Rick agreed with everything that Frank was saying, but he didn’t like the way he was saying it. With every sentence, Frank seemed to raise the gun a bit higher until it was pointed, not at Philip’s legs, but at the man’s center mass. Because of the darkness still obscuring Frank, the weapon seemed to hang in the air, its metal slide catching the light from the above window. It vibrated as if on a string and not in his partner’s gloved hand.

“I should never have let you all into the business.” Philip took another step toward the hovering handgun. “You guys never got how restaurants work.”

The gun was nearly touching Philip’s chest. “You going to shoot me, Frank? That the plan? How are you going to make your money back without any food coming out of the kitchen?”

“You’re coming with us,” Frank said. His voice didn’t sound as confident as before. “You’re going to go to the bank, take out the money you’re running this shithole on, and wire it to our accounts where it rightfully belongs.”

“That a double-action pistol?”