Andre had a hand in the duffel bag now. He let the bag fall to reveal the sawn-off shotgun he was holding. ‘Move.’

Vincent felt his heart start to thud. The guy had too much distance—fifteen feet, at least—and he couldn’t reach him before being shot. Not a pleasant image: the twin barrels, a pitch-black double-zero, Andre’s face beyond the gun with an almost innocent expression. The bright-lipped smile showing teeth, a hint of the gold fangs.

Vincent said, ‘Who are you looking for?’

Delroy said, ‘We just want to see Mr Page. Attorney–client business.’

‘I already told you he’s not here.’

Delroy grinned up at him from the sofa. ‘You need a better story. How’d you slip in here through a locked door?’ Glancing back at the entry. ‘You’re skinny-ish, sure, but you couldn’t slide in under there, no way.’ He was flipping through his magazine, making a show of it. ‘And it’s not your office, so what’re you doing here with the lights off?’ Leaning to one side. ‘Although, you got a light on down the hallway there, that’s nice.’

Vincent said to Andre, ‘I heard you killed Sly Crow last night. You guys seemed to be getting on so well.’

Andre said, ‘Mmm. Real sad news, right?’

‘Must’ve been hard breaking his neck. He’s pretty big, you’re only miniature.’

Andre smiled.

Delroy put down the Newsweek. ‘How long’s it going to take you to stand aside?’

Vincent said, ‘You figure no one’s going to hear when he pulls that trigger?’

Andre’s smile grew a little. ‘Someone will. But you won’t.’

If they came in the same way he had, they passed the security desk, which meant they had their photos taken, which in turn meant there was an almost guaranteed record they were in the building. Yet here they were threatening him with a shotgun. It wasn’t the kind of attitude worth arguing with. The problem was, if they were so far beyond reason they felt this counted as a good idea, what were they going to do when they made it past him?

Delroy rose from the sofa. ‘I’d get out of the way, I were you. He’s chambered that thing with slugs.’

Vincent said, ‘Andre, you pull that trigger, life’s going to be real hard for you. Think about it a second.’

Andre still had that strange look on his face—bright-eyed and wet-lipped—and when he spoke his voice was different, lighter: the breezy knowing of a cult leader. He said, ‘If you don’t move, you’re going to die. Simple, huh?’

In the pause, Vincent heard his own heartbeat. He watched Andre’s trigger finger.