“Are you going to tell me what the hell we’re doing here?” he said.

I took the rifle off my shoulder and held it by the strap. The wood was not warped. The barrel was not rusted. The Westside had not touched it at all. I didn’t know how it was possible, but I felt an awful urge to find out.

“Where did they come from, these magic, terrible guns?” I said.

“You know full well we stole ’em from Copeland,” he said, looking frightfully impressed with himself. “Right from under Barbie’s nose.”

“But where did she get them?”

“You think she told me that? You think she told me anything? That fat old cow thought I was stupid. Look what it got her.”

“And Copeland?”

“Same thing.”

“A bullet, courtesy Lieutenant Edward Thorne.”

“Right between the eyes.”

“That would be quite a shot, then, since the bullet hit Copeland in the back of the head.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“When I close my eyes, it’s all I see.”

I tossed him the rifle. He caught it gracelessly.

“You really trust me with a gun,” he said, “after what you saw me do last night?”

“I didn’t see you hit anyone.”

“I’m a crack shot, Gilda.”

“So prove it. Just hit the dock, Thorne. We’re not that far away. Just put a bullet through the dock.”

He wrapped his quivering fingers around the stock.

“Perhaps it would be easier if you lay prone,” I said.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He lowered himself clumsily to his belly. “Can I have a drink first?”

“As much as you require.”

He drank deep. It steadied his fingers, but it didn’t matter. When he fired the rifle, it bucked hard enough to bruise his shoulder. The bullet slapped harmlessly into the Hudson.

“Damn it!” he said.

“You didn’t shoot Barbie last night, did you?”

“I shot at her! Maybe mine wasn’t the bullet that killed her, but what the hell difference does it make?”

“She could still be alive.”

“I tell you, I watched her body burn!”

“And Copeland. There’s no way you could have shot him from here. So who did?”

“I . . . I have no idea.”

Disgusting man. Just being near him made me want to wash my hands.

“You’re too stupid to plan all this mayhem,” I said. “You worked with someone else. Someone who knew when Copeland was going to dock, who knew what was in his hold, who knew the best way to turn Barbie and Van Alen against each other. Who was it?”

He dropped the rifle and clutched the flask close. I picked up the rifle and ejected the clip. It was empty.

“Your boys burned through a lot of ammunition last night.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’re bringing more in.”

“From where? Without Copeland, how?”