Tommy handed over the new 1911. Eight in the mag, one in the spout. High-profile straight-eight sights. Low ambidextrous thumb safety, since Evan preferred to shoot southpaw. Aggressive front-frame checkering. Extended barrel, threaded for a suppressor. Beavertail grip safety so it wouldn’t fire if not in hand. Matte black to disappear in shadow.

It wasn’t merely sterilized—it had never had a serial number.

A ghost weapon that, like Evan, did not exist.

Evan hefted the ARES. “It’s lighter.”

“Bet yer ass it’s lighter,” Tommy said. “Thing practically floats. But everything else is as lined out as the steel Wilsons I used to make you.” His biker mustache shifted above his grin. “It’s just homemade.”

Evan handed him another wad of hundreds and stood.

“Hold up, hoss.” Tommy slipped the cash into his shirt pocket. “When have I ever let you leave without test-driving a new gun?” He chinned at the sand-filled steel pipe slanted downward next to the cutting torch. “Eyes-and-ears are in the bin.”

Evan donned protective gear and then fired a full mag down the mouth of the pipe. The gun, tuned with throat-ramp work, fed smoothly.

When Evan turned around, Tommy had tugged out his earplugs, one cheek gathering to the side in a fan of wrinkles.

“You okay?” Evan asked.

“Tinnitus. From all the…” Tommy waved a hand by his head. “I live with it nonstop, pretty much. I think of it as a reminder of all the shit I’ve done. Jiminy Cricket in there, making sure I don’t forget a red second of it.” His smile was bittersweet. “Every year I feel like I’m hangin’ on to a little less. And for a little less. You know?”

Evan clicked the ARES into his Kydex holster. “I know,” he said.

67. What Was Missing

67

What Was Missing

CraftFirst Poster Restoration would have been a sweatshop if everyone weren’t so well paid. Rows and rows of foreign workers toiling over screw presses and wet tables, spraying surfactants and dabbing at one-sheets with needle-thin paintbrushes. The operation, located at the back of an industrial park in Northridge, made money in a variety of ways. The woman at the helm specialized in bringing rare posters and documents back to their original form. She also happened to be the finest forger Evan had encountered.