Stone cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Okay, now listen, we can’t have any blowback here. You go barging in and it comes back to me, the SIS guys will know who gave them up. You ruin their play, my guy is fucked.”

“No blowback. They’ll never see me.”

Stone laughed again, still too loud and too long, and now more than a little nervous.

“Only you could say that, Pike, talking about SIS. Jesus Christ, bro, only you.”

Stone was giving Pike the address when light exploded into the office, so bright the walls and furniture were white with glare. Pike, still in the chair with his back to the window, did not move. The patrol car had returned.

Pike said, “Sh.”

“What’s wrong?”

An enormous blue shadow crossed the office wall as if someone had moved in front of the light. Pike heard faint radio calls, and listened for approaching footsteps.

Stone’s tiny voice came from the phone.

“You sound weird, man. Where are you?”

Pike whispered, as still as a fish at the bottom of a pond.

“Frank’s. The police are outside.”

“You break in?”

“Sh.”

The light swung away, moving to another part of the house like an animal tracking a scent.

“What the fuck are you doing at Frank’s?”

“I wanted to see what his life was like.”

“You’re a strange cat. I mean, really.”

The light snapped off. The yard plunged into darkness. The radio chatter faded. The patrol car rolled on.

Pike said, “Okay.”

“Hey, is it nice?”

“What?”

“Frank’s house. Does he have a nice place?”

“Yes.”

“Fancy?”

“Not like you mean. It’s a good family home.”

Pike heard Stone swallow. Heard the glass tink the phone.

“You think it’s true, he went bad?”

“Chen thinks the people who did this got the wrong house.”

“Like, what, they got confused about which house they wanted to rob?”

“It happens.”

“What do you think?”

“ Doesn’t matter.”

“No. No, it surely doesn’t.”

Stone made a deep sigh. Pike thought it might have been a sob, but then Stone had another sip of whatever he was sipping, and went on.

“Assholes like this, they go in these houses, right house, wrong house, murder people like they were nothing, probably sleep like a baby after it’s over. How many times have they done this?”

“Frank was the seventh.”

“You see? This is my point. Six times before, they got away clean. Murdered some poor bastard, and there have been no consequences. Hence, these people do not fear the dead. They LOVE the dead, Joe, because the dead—and I apologize if my assessment here seems harsh—but, the dead have not been effective when it comes to consequence and retribution.”

“What are you drinking?”