The little guy had balls, that was for sure: saying it like he had no qualms about turning the street into a free-fire zone. And there was a depth in his eyes that made Vincent think that he would. His other problem too was that Lou appeared to be feeling much better. And he didn’t want the guy behind him in the car, where a chokehold or a punch to the back of the head might seem like nice payback.

So: close it down now, or risk getting in the Lincoln.

Andre said, ‘Come on.’ Lifting his chin a touch, aiming up the street. ‘Game’s easy. You just keep walking, and then everybody’s fine.’

Vincent said, ‘Or we could just go our separate ways and call it a day.’

Andre grinned. Small, square teeth with heavy yellow borders. The gold caps on the incisors. He looked like a teenage arsonist, wanting something bad to happen. He said, ‘Nuh-uh.’

Vincent said, ‘You sure?’

Andre—still with his smile—looked behind him, one shoulder then the other, like appealing to an unseen audience. He said, ‘Why wouldn’t I be sure?’

Vincent said, ‘Because if we get in the car, it’s going to count as a carjacking, which I understand gets taken pretty seriously. Whereas if you walk away now, you’re in the clear. You didn’t make us do anything, and we can’t swear one way or the other what’s in the bag.’

The Cuban said, ‘Mmm. That’s real nice, looking out for us.’

Vincent nodded and said, ‘Yeah, sure.’

The Cuban said, ‘But you can keep fucking walking.’

Twelve feet. He could close that gap in less than a second, probably.

But he was on a sidewalk, and there were maybe twenty people outside the hotel back there. Another group behind him, walking down from the station. Cars going past in the vehicle lane. So a stray bullet was a bad proposition. And the Cuban still had that look on his face—like, despite what he said he’d love something to play out right now. Vincent figured he couldn’t help it. He was in the life. Probably most things he did were a matter of contest, going up against someone. There’d always be that part of him that wondered: who’ll win?

So Vincent just shrugged and said, ‘All right.’

They went north up State Street and then over the level crossing. Blue sky, palm trees, spotless white adobe either side. He could tell why people liked it here. The Amtrak he’d seen earlier had departed, and there were only a few passengers milling around the station building.

Heading into the lot, Vincent slowed and stayed back a little, and the Cuban moved out to one side, maintaining his twelve-foot radius.

Lou glanced back and said, ‘Yeah, look: you can see him thinking.’