“You want to meet so you can tell me which it is?” continued Scott.

Johnny Boy approached McGrath’s office. “OK, but you must appreciate it’s dangerous for me now so from now on let me call you, Mister . . . ?”

Johnny Boy entered the office. He sat down opposite McGrath and Sheila, who’d just finished counting. He was happy for McGrath to hear the rest of the conversation.

“OK, Detective Scott, thank you, I’ll be in touch. Don’t call my number again.”

Johnny Boy deleted the call from the phone’s log. Soon afterward, Cal entered the office. Johnny Boy handed him his phone. “You dropped it downstairs.”

Cal was in high old spirits. And now he’d come upstairs to find out how much money they had. He was on his way too. But if he’d noticed the look that passed between his colleagues he might have wondered if they were all boarding the same train.

About the same time, Spencer was driving over the Ambassador Bridge, the busiest international land crossing on the North American continent. Just a nondescript little car among the hundreds of other nondescript cars, rigs, and bikes. He felt the numbers would work in his favor, because even with sunglasses, his face was a three-ring circus. The customs officer on the other side didn’t seem to notice or care. Spencer handed her his British passport, left in the swag bag by Chris. The guy had thought of everything. The Wilcox selling arm of Thermo Booster Burn had been destined for great things.

Five minutes later, Spencer was in Canada.

By the time Detective Scott got home, he was feeling more philosophical about things. That guy Chris had been right. This had always been about getting McGrath.

As he slid the key in his front door, he steeled himself for what was ahead. But he was in for a pleasant surprise. The house was quiet. For the first time for as long as he could remember, he couldn’t hear the sound of a TV blaring. Maybe she was out with the kids. Thank Christ. Now he could crack open a beer or three and have himself a little celebration. Sooner rather than later McGrath’s accountant was going to be calling him. There was a deal to be made.

He closed the front door. When he turned back to the hallway, he was confused to find a tall man standing in front of him pointing a gun at his face.

Denny pulled the trigger.

Detective Scott flew backward against his front door and then crumpled to the floor in a heap.