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Darrell.’
    There was a moment’s pause. The black man cocked back the hammer of his automatic and gave Conor a look which said:
Don’t push me to do this, because I just might
.
    Darrell said, ‘O-
kay
, then, if old Ma Hammerlich is making a song and dance about it.’
    â€˜Song and dance? Believe me, Darrell,
Showboat
has nothing on this.’
    Conor put down the phone. ‘He’s coming. Give him a couple of minutes to get down here.’
    â€˜I’m warning you, man. If he don’t come, and if he don’t come quick … your deputy here is going to be losing his head.’
    The door swung open again and a thin, bespectacled white man came in, wearing a matching Brinks-Mat uniform. He had cropped blond hair and oddly colorless eyes and his face could have been seraphic if it hadn’t been so scarred and knocked about. A shop-soiled Angel Gabriel. He was carrying an Uzi sub-machine pistol close to his chest.
    â€˜Good job, Ray,’ he told the black man cheerfully. ‘How long before the lardass gets here?’ He had awhispery, cigarette-parched voice, with a strong north-eastern accent. Boston, or Lynn, or even Marblehead.
    â€˜Give him time,’ Conor volunteered. ‘He’s coming down from the fifth floor, and he’s not exactly a natural athlete.’
    The Angel Gabriel peered at him, and then a grin cracked across his face. ‘You’re the guy, right? You’re the guy who bust all those cops. I ought to shake your hand.’
    The black man Ray looked at his watch and then he looked at Conor. ‘Two minutes, you got it? That’s all I’m going to give him.’
    â€˜Hey – don’t tell me your former colleagues in the police department haven’t put a price on your ass,’ said the Angel Gabriel, circling the office. ‘What do you reckon they’d pay me if I shot you now?’
    â€˜You won’t shoot me now because you’d never get into the strongroom.’
    The Angel Gabriel sat on the edge of Conor’s desk and jabbed the muzzle of his Uzi into Conor’s breastbone. His breath smelled of tobacco and something strange, like licorice root. The only indications that he was stressed were his widely dilated pupils and his quick, shallow breathing. ‘I have a little list here,’ he said, reaching left-handed into the breast pocket of his uniform and producing a folded sheet of paper. ‘And I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. As soon as the lardass shows, we’re going to open up the strongroom. Then we’re going to remove all of the safe deposit boxes on my little list, and we’re going to wheel them out to our truck. After that we’re going to drive away, and we’re going to betaking your deputy with us. If we don’t get clear away, your deputy is going to be dead meat. And don’t try complaining to Brinks-Mat. This particular collection is what you might call unauthorized.’
    Conor looked him straight in the eye. ‘Don’t sweat it. You won’t catch me trying to stop you.’
    â€˜Oh, really? I thought you were supposed to be the chief security officer around here.’
    â€˜I am. But what do I care if some rich old widow loses a million or two? Not worth getting killed for.’
    â€˜That doesn’t sound at all like the man who broke the Forty-Ninth Street Golf Club.’
    â€˜There’s a subtle difference, my friend. The man who broke the Forty-Ninth Street Golf Club was a cop. Being a cop, that’s a
calling
. Being a security officer, that’s a
job
.’
    â€˜Well, I guess. But some people take their jobs more seriously than others, don’t they? How seriously do you take
your
job, Mr O’Neil?’
    The black man Ray checked his watch yet again. He was standing directly in front of Conor’s desk, and Conor had thought of discharging his shotgun right into his knees. But the chances of