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already dead. “I’m probably going to kill you, you stupid, smug son of a bitch! Can’t you even see that?”
    “You’re not . . . going to kill me,” Rigley said. It was assertion, question, and plea all at once, but mostly the latter; he had seen the gun in the holster swinging under Nolan’s shoulder.
    “That remains to be seen,” Nolan said, pacing, deciding.
    “You don’t really think I’d be fool enough to bring you out here to a . . . remote spot like this without having . . . having someone to back me up, do you, Logan?”
    “I think you’re a fool—period.”
    “We’re not alone, Logan. I’m warning you. Don’t try anything. We’re not alone; I can have you at my mercy at the drop of a hat.”
    Nolan laughed, and the laugh sounded harsh even in his own ears. “It’s too bad you don’t have a hat, then, Rigley. At your mercy, Jesus.”
    “Julie,” Rigley called. “Julie, get in here, quick!”
    Nolan shook his head and said, “Well, you’re right about one thing, Rigley. We aren’t alone. Come on in, Jon.”
    Jon came in through the doorway opposite the fireplace, with Rigley’s partner in tow. He flicked on a standing lamp by the couch, where he deposited his pretty P.O.W., from whom he’d taken a double-barreled shotgun, which was cradled over his left arm, making the snubnose .38 in his hand look like a toy. Meanwhile, the girl was angrily removing the slash of white tape Jon had forced over her mouth a few minutes earlier.
    “I hope you don’t mind Jon coming in the back way, Rigley,” Nolan said.
    Rigley said nothing. He sat motionless, except for that facial tic that had started up again.
    But the beautiful young woman in her mid to late twenties sitting next to Rigley didn’t seem the least bit shaken. Pissed off, yes; shaken, no. She was tall, probably five-ten or more, with dark brown hair that curved around her face in a way that reminded Nolan of the way women wore their hair in the forties, the what was it?—page boy. She had big eyes, huge damn eyes, as brown as her hair and as beautiful; all of her features were beautiful in an exaggerated way. Her mouth was overly large, but nicely so—a sensual mouth that seemed to Nolan designed for any number of erotic pastimes—and her nose was nearly too small and put together so perfectly, it seemed unlikely God could have done it without help. She was full-breasted, small-waisted, lavishly hipped. She wore a matching sweater and pants outfit the color of the rusty brick fireplace; the shadows from the fire were licking her, and he didn’t blame them.
    Nolan went over and took the shotgun from Jon, and it was in his arms as he looked at Rigley and said, “There are two alternatives for dealing with blackmailers. Go along with them. Or kill them. I can’t see going along with you, Rigley. For one thing, I don’t think I can stomach your pompous fucking bank president attitude. And I don’t think my temper will last long around stupid goddamn stunts like that folder full of threats you shoved under my nose, or having your busty girl friend cover me with a shotgun from the next room while we talk. I just cannot see getting involved in a heist with irrational, incompetent amateurs the likes of you two. And so I’m left with that other, unpleasant alternative.”
    Rigley was pale and looked almost dazed, but the girl, Julie, said, “He’s bluffing, honey. Don’t pay any attention to him.”
    Nolan went on, still talking over the twin barrels of the shotgun. “I’m willing to offer you a third alternative, Rigley. I’m willing to let this end right here. Quietly. Without violence. I’ll forget about you, your embezzling, your pipe-dream robbery. And you do likewise where I’m concerned.”
    Rigley seemed to be thinking it over, when the girl said, “If they were going to kill us, honey, they would have by now.”
    Smart girl. The brains of the outfit. And the balls too, most likely.
    But she was still talking. To