"Why didn't you just keep it in the glovebox?"

He gave Martin a look of disappointment. "Martin. I'm not a common street thug. I don't ride dirty."

"'Ride dirty' you like, but 'brass tacks' is a no-go."

"What can I say? I'm a man of many contradictions."

Qurban bent and scooped up the gray blanket nestled beside the spare tire and tire iron. He unrolled it, revealing a black pistol. It looked small in his large hands. "This is a Glock 19. I was assured by the very respectable gentleman who sold it to me that it has quite a lot of stopping power, which I was subsequently assured is quite important."

He handed it to Martin. It felt lighter than Martin had expected.

"Hey, what happened to your hand?"

Martin looked at it. He'd made a quick stop at a Duane Reade and gotten some gauze and wrap bandages. Blood had soaked through both. "It's a long story."

Qurban waggled his eyebrows. "Kinky stuff?"

Martin laughed. He studied the pistol while Qurban ducked back into the trunk. There were several things that looked like switches but none like the safeties he knew from other pistols. But there was a small lever on the trigger itself.

"You'll need these." Qurban handed him a box of 9mm Luger bullets with a bald eagle on its face. "And they're called rounds not bullets. You don't say bullets, not unless you want the respectable gentleman with a van full of assault rifles to laugh at you."

Martin slipped the box into his coat pocket. "I'll bear that in mind."

"Now, Martin, you must be very careful. There's no traditional safety, the respectable man assured me. That's why it's so good for protection. If you need it in a hurry, Martin, you just pull the trigger. It won't fire unless you pull the trigger."

"That's reassuring."

"Do you know how to load it?" Martin admitted he didn't, and Qurban took the gun from him. "Weapon, never gun," he said.

"Not unless I want the respectable man to laugh at me."

The agent grinned. "You're catching on."

He popped the cartridge and began loading rounds with a speed loader. It looked complicated but Martin figured he'd get the hang of it after a few times.

"That's it. Now you're ready to rock, as they say," Qurban said, rolling his Rs, as he handed the pistol back.

Martin pointed the pistol at the overflowing dumpster and squinted down the sight. He hadn't fired a gun since the spring-loaded BB pistol he'd had when he was a kid, stalking squirrels in the woods near their apartment. He'd been a crack shot but that was almost thirty years ago. And he suspected this gun—this weapon—would have a little more kick than a child's air pistol.

Qurban put a hand on Martin's arm and eased it down. "Please don't shoot anything here."

"I was just testing the feel."

The agent studied him. "And do you feel you could use it, should events force you to?"