“As for this ten thousand, which doesn’t seem to be in sequential bills, which is good, and they’re used, which is good, and I don’t think they’re marked, but I’ll check, what this bought you is the opportunity to have spoken with me. And, at least temporarily, my not talking about it to anyone else. And that’s all you get. For trying to fuck with me.

“Goodbye,” I said. “Don’t come back. Don’t call. Don’t text. And don’t even ride a train I’m on.” I turned and began to walk away.

“You will not take our money,” Liz said.

I ignored her.

“I was prepared for this,” she said. “I have a gun.”

I looked back. She was actually taking one out of her purse. It was a Glock 43, their subcompact 9mm. It was black and hot pink. Mostly hot pink. I didn’t laugh. A bullet is a bullet. But maybe it made me stupider than I should have been. Instead of stopping or running from her, I began walking toward her. “I don’t think you’ll shoot.”

“I will shoot you. I want my money back.”

“If you could kill someone, what do you need me for?” I kept moving toward her, but slowly. “Why make it all complicated, add another person, make it more likely to go wrong?”

“Stop. Or I’ll shoot. I will.”

“If you kill me, what are you going to do with the body? If you don’t kill me, you’re really fucked.”

“I will shoot. I won’t miss. I have been trained. I’ve practiced at the range. I will hit you.”

“Oh, come on,” I said. I was about three feet from her. “You don’t even have the safety off. You pushed it the wrong way. Take a look.”

She could have laughed and shot me, since the Glock doesn’t have that kind of safety. It just has a little thingamajig on the trigger. Simply squeezing the trigger in the normal way releases it. But she glanced down. I launched myself at her. Lord, God, I was old and slow. Once I probably would have disarmed her with some efficiency, even elegance. From the moment I started my move, I realized how much was gone. I just flung myself at her in a full body tackle. I hit her like we were ten-year-olds trying to play football like we’d seen on TV, headfirst into her belly, arms around her, taking her down to the ground. Either by reflex or the sudden recollection of her gun range training, she squeezed the trigger. The Glock went off.