She shook her head. “I didn’t go to the bar last night with Josh. I drove. You

can drop me. I’m at a parking lot across the street from the bar.” “Okay.”

“Okay,” she parroted back. “So we’re done here?” He fiddled with a paper napkin

and glanced up at her. “Meaning?” “Meaning are we done here? You and me?” “Yeah,

I think we are.” She reached into her purse and put some cash down on the table.

 

Inside the purse he could see the pistol.

 

She saw him looking at it. “Beretta,” she said. “Mini Cougar model. Fits my hand

really well. Double-stack mag chambered in nine mil. And I’m partial to Italian

made. They’ve been in business since 1526, did you know that?” “No.” “So they

must know what they’re doing, right? I mean, come on, all that time? Nearly five

centuries? I mean, shit.” “Right.” “Took that guy out last night with it, right?

Dropped him on the floor, right?” “Right.” “Else you’d be fucking dead. Right?”

He looked at her and she looked back at him. “Right,” she said, answering her

own question. “Don’t forget that.” She stood. “Let’s go.” He dropped her off

back at the parking lot and watched her get into the Benz convertible. She put

the top down, slid on her sunglasses, and drove off without acknowledging him.

 

Rogers sat in his van and then reached into the glove box and pulled out the

M11-B. He held it in his right hand. Looking in the rearview mirror, he pressed

the muzzle against his temple. He thought back to that night, long ago, when a

revolver had been held by Jericho against this very temple. She told him she was

going to pull the trigger again and again at random intervals. She told him she