I said, “Joint Task Force,” as I turned toward the elevators, and, “Not Your Business,” as I began to walk away. That was a clearly satisfactory answer since he said nothing further.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

WALK ON GILDED SPLINTERS

“Few men get killed. Most of those who meet sudden ends, get themselves killed.”

DASHIEL HAMMETT, THE WHOSIS KID

THE DOOR TO TOTAL CONFIDENTIALITY Investigations, Ltd. was locked.

I needed to find a way to break in. A pry bar or some such. Back in my time, the janitor often left his closet unlocked, and there were all sorts of things in there. It was down the hall, by the stair landing. I started in that direction.

Why not knock?

Was I getting caught up in some overdramatized, crazy fantasy scenario? Real people, in real circumstances, knock. Even cops should go with a simple knock on the door before they go all SWAT. I turned around. Walked back. Took the little Glock from the pocket of my sport jacket and put it my coat pocket. Just in case I wasn’t overdramatizing. Then I knocked on the door.

I heard voices on the other side. His and hers. Though I couldn’t make out any words.

The door opened. When Owen saw me he said, “My house,” and lifted the gun that he had in his hand until it was pointing at me. “Come in.”

It was a 9mm. I didn’t know the brand. I knew it could kill me. The name of the manufacturer didn’t make much difference. They were all sufficiently reliable that I wouldn’t bet my life on a malfunction. Whichever one of them this was, it would kill me as dead as any of the others. For that matter, the fact that it was an automatic rather than a revolver and that it was a 9mm rather than a .38, a .44, or a .45 was irrelevant in the immediate context.

I accepted the invitation. He shoved the door closed behind me.

We were in the reception area. Allison appeared in the doorway between there and Owen’s private office. She called my name. I said, “Hi. Good to see you. I think we should go now.”

“No,” Owen said. “We’re going to settle things now. I’m going to get my share.”

“Of what?” Allison asked.

“Has he threatened you?” I asked her.

“No,” she said.

“Good,” I said, “Come on.”

“You’re staying,” Owen snapped at her.

“Let it go,” I said to him. “Game’s over.”

“Not at all,” he said.

“It is,” I said. “Let’s not get crazy. Yeah, you got a gun on me, but you’re not going to shoot me. Or her. What would you do with the body? Or bodies? The last place we were seen alive was here. Everybody’s phone says so. Mine. Hers. Yours. And we’re signed in down below, at the desk.”