They stopped at a light. On the boardwalk between the trees and the sand, the joggers were out in force, with their Apples and their Nikes and their Fitbits. Bronzed and glossy specimens grimly determined. Theirs was the most important race in California: the race to stay pretty.

Lamar said, ‘In the glove compartment, there’s a three-fifty-seven revolver.’

Yeah, of course there was. Panic room like that in the house, it made sense there’d be something in the car. Nothing there yesterday, so Lamar must have stashed it last night, biding his time before he broached the guns-in-the-car topic. Vincent said, ‘Probably a good way to get shot, having it there.’

‘Yeah, how’s that?’

Vincent said, ‘Get pulled over on a traffic stop, you don’t want to be reaching in for your insurance with that in there, do you?’

Lamar laughed. ‘That’s why I have a driver.’

Vincent didn’t answer. He thought he could just keep his hands on the wheel, maintain a firm ten-and-two grip and not worry if there was a gun or not. But that wasn’t how his instincts worked. He couldn’t have a pistol in arm’s reach and not know how he would use it. The uncertainty rubbed against his inner grain. So he leaned over and opened the glove compartment. He knew as soon as he dropped the door—feeling the weight of it—that the gun inside was loaded.

Lamar said, ‘Nice, huh?’

It was a silver Colt Python with the four-inch barrel, and a black, chequered grip.

Lamar said, ‘Light’s green.’

Vincent closed the glove compartment and got them rolling again.

Lamar said, ‘I guess what I’m asking …’ He trailed off for a moment while he nodded to the stereo. ‘I guess what I’m asking is, if we find ourselves in trouble out on the road, are you going to make use of what’s available?’

Trouble on the road. Like this was a wagon train or something.

He said, ‘I’ll probably pass it back to you if there’s time.’

‘And if there’s not?’

The mirror didn’t need adjusting, but Vincent reached up and gave it a tweak anyway—the old man’s face jumping one way and the other and then coming central in the glass—and Vincent hoped he’d get the subliminal message that he wanted a clear picture. He said, ‘Can the supermarket business bring a bit of heat?’

Lamar shrugged, evened up his string tie. ‘I’ve been lucky so far. But I’ve got a stake in fifty businesses, and I’m worth …’ He rocked his head, mouth downturned. ‘Hundred and twenty, maybe a hundred and fifty million. So I like to be prepared for the chance that someone will want me to share.’