Oh, sweet Jesus, maybe they filmed you grabbing that bag of cash.

He casually moved his right hand to the top of the wheel, letting his left drop to the door pocket. His fingers curled around his phone. Without appearing to take his eyes off the road, he opened the voice recorder app, hit Record, and gently placed the phone back in the door pocket.

“You never answered the question, Dom.”

McGrath looked up. “Sorry, I lost interest somewhere back around when we crossed the river. Come on, say it! Show some balls, man!”

“Fine. Why aren’t you even worried about the cops? Especially when, what was it you said, way back? Oh yeah, ‘When you’re at war, everyone has to do their job. If there’s one weak link in a squad, he gets the whole squad killed.’ So why am I the only one who seems to give a fuck?”

McGrath had his little smile on his face.

“This is a big joke to you, Dom? I’ve got a little girl! I go to jail, what happens to her? Why aren’t any of you bothered? Maybe because—”

“Because?”

Spencer shook his head. Feigned reluctance. “Whatever.”

“Come on, say it for Chrissakes.”

McGrath tapped his arm, softened his voice. “Hey, come on. We’ve been doing this longer than you. Isn’t that right, Cal?”

Cal said nothing.

Spencer went for it. “Dom, that was my car those guys were in when the Yo-Yo killed them. Right?”

“Yeah, so? You got a nicer ride now.”

“That’s not the point. What if the cops think I killed those guys?”

They joined the line at the customs gate.

“Spence, I told you. There’s nothing to worry about on that score.”

Now Spencer didn’t need to feign difficulty reining himself in. “Don’t fucking ‘Spence’ me, Dom! You had those guys killed, and you’re holding that over me, a bigger gun to my head than a few busted cars!”

McGrath looked incredulously at him for a moment, then around at Cal, then back at Spencer, and burst out laughing.

Cal snorted derisively and shook his head. He fished his passport out of his jacket and handed it to McGrath.

“Oh that’s really funny, is it?” said Spencer. He dropped his window and handed over their passports.

“Fingers crossed, gentlemen,” said McGrath quietly.

The customs official asked them the nature of their trip.

“Business,” said McGrath without hesitation.

“How much money are you taking into Canada today?”

McGrath got out his wallet and leafed through the notes. “I got . . . about a hundred and fifty bucks. Guys?”

“About one twenty,” said Cal.

“Maybe ninety,” said Spencer.

The customs officer leaned out of his booth. He gave the three of them and the car a once-over, deliberating whether they deserved additional scrutiny. Spencer was glad he’d chosen to bring his US passport. It made their party more nondescript.

“Enjoy your trip to Canada, gentlemen.”