Paulson’s body had gone rigid. He was trying to cast his eyes toward Davis, or maybe the security detail, but was facing the wrong way. “What the fuck?” he sputtered against the clenching muscles of his throat. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up against the muzzle of the gun. “I’m cool, I’m cool.”

“Anthony,” Richards said, his eyes still fixed on Paulson’s, “it’s your call, my friend. You tell me. Is he cool?”

From the van, a long silence. Then, quietly: “’Sall right. He cool.”

“You’re sure now? Because if he isn’t, I want you to tell me. You get the last word on this.”

Another pause. “He cool.”

“You hear that?” Richards said to Paulson. He released the soldier’s belt and pulled his weapon away. “The man says you’re cool.”

Paulson looked like he was about to cry for his mama. On the loading dock, the security detail burst out laughing.

“The key,” Richards said.

Paulson reached into his belt and passed it to Richards. His hands were trembling; his breath smelled like vomit.

“Go on now,” Richards said. He shot a look at Davis, holding his pile of comic books. “You too, junior. The both of you, get the fuck out of here.”

They scrambled off into the snow. In the few minutes since the van had pulled up, the sun had lifted from behind the mountains, giving the air a pale glow. Richards bent into the van and undid Carter’s shackles.

“You okay? Those boys hurt you anywhere?”

Carter rubbed his damp face. “They didn’t mean nothing.” He swung his feet from the bench and lowered himself stiffly onto the ground. He blinked and looked around. “They gone?”

Richards said they were.

“What this place?”

“Fair question.” Richards nodded. “All in time. You hungry, Anthony?”

“They fed me. McDonald’s.” Carter’s eyes found the security detail, standing on the dock above them. His expression told Richards nothing. “What about them?” he asked.

“They’re here for you. You’re the guest of honor, Anthony.”

Carter narrowed his eyes at Richards. “You really shoot that guy if I’d said to?”

Something about Carter made him think of Sykes, standing in his office with that lost look on his face, asking him if they were friends.

“What do you think? You think I would have?”

“I wouldn’t know what to think.”

“Well, just between us, no. I wouldn’t have. I was just fooling with him.”

“I thought you was.” Carter’s face broke into a grin. “Thought it was funny, though. You doing him like you did.” He shook his head, laughing a little, and looked around again. “What happen now?”

“What happens now,” Richards said, “is we get you inside, where it’s warm.”

Chapter Eight

EIGHT