Evan eyed the rifles, then sat on the bed. As René stepped forward into the room, his men floated around him in perfect Secret Service diamond formation. The big guy’s round face peered over René’s shoulder like a second head. Through a break in the bodies, Evan could see the wide tips of his fingers on the small of René’s back, cheated to the side, ready for the hook-and-grab if Evan made a move. The big man’s position and body language made clear that he was the right hand, elevated above the cartel stooges.

René shot a look back at him. “It’s fine, Dex.”

Dex removed his arm, and Evan strained to catch a glimpse of what was on the back of his hand, but it was gone too fast.

Chuy pushed the dining cart forward until it bumped lightly against the ledge of Evan’s knees. There was no knife or fork, just a flexible rubber spoon. Scents wafted up. A butter patty dissolved into the hotcake stack. Bacon beckoned. A cloth napkin was cinched in a segment of bamboo stem that acted as a ring, the fine linen bloused out on either side like butterfly wings. There was a fucking sprig of parsley.

Evan thought, You’ve got to be kidding me.

“I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here,” René said.

“You need me.”

René’s moist lips pursed with amusement that wasn’t really amusement at all. He didn’t like being correctly anticipated. “I’m sorry?”

“A bullet goes for around twenty-five cents. These arrangements cost a touch north of that. So you require me for something. Or you wouldn’t go to the trouble.”

René’s stare, lasering out from behind that Saran Wrap skin, was as unnerving as it was direct.

“Where am I?” Evan asked.

“Think of this as a private-sector rendition.”

“Where am I?” Evan asked again.

“That’s not relevant.”

“What’s relevant is relative,” Evan said.

“Good point. It’s not relevant to me for the purposes of this conversation. And what’s relevant to me is the only thing that matters anymore.”

René’s hand dipped behind a lapel and came out with Evan’s RoamZone phone. He held it aloft theatrically, then dropped it on the floor and smashed it with the heel of his dress shoe. He stomped on it again until the Gorilla Glass cracked and the innards showed. Then he picked it up and tossed it into the fireplace.

Evan didn’t move his head but watched with his eyes.

René turned, a bead of perspiration carving its way down his flushed cheek. “You are in my hands. On my time. There is no help coming for you.”

“I don’t wait for help. I am the help.”

“Well, you’re doing a fine job thus far.”

“I haven’t started yet.”