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barons had sent out goons to murder a farmer and his family rather than pay for the farmer’s land. The assassins sported long coats worn by a local outlaw gang so that they could lay blame for the murders that way. The youngest son of the farmer was left unharmed so he could witness those long coats. The outlaw gang didn’t like being blamed for the murder, and began to investigate who did do it. Out of nowhere came a loner with a harmonica and a vendetta against the head railroad goon. When the loner was a child, the same goons had left him alive as a witness. In a sort of mysterious way, this loner helps guide the outlaws to confront the goons, in turn making an opportunity for the loner to settle his score and escape.
    Some instant coffee in a hot pot from the cabinet got me going. I tried smoking another Winston, but a stale cigarette just wasn’t doing it for me.
    I inspected the back of the SUV with a black light and found light blood smears. The black light I kept around to check out certain kinds of gems, but I knew black lights could also make blood and semen glow. Even though the Serbs saw us escape on bikes, they didn’t see the black SUV, which are common enough. Still, the vehicle was a link to me. Technically, it belonged to Trudy, it was in her name. The Serbs would get our names soon enough, probably through intimidation or torture in combination with a process of elimination. Somebody would talk, somebody would give them a list of local crooks, and in no time they’d be on my doorstep. While I was at the barn they’d be out looking for our vehicles and searching our apartments.
    I used Trudy’s cell phone to ring Roberto.
    “’Allo?”
    “Tomás, this is Gill. I need to see Roberto.”
    “He still sleep.”
    “It’s important.”
    “Yes, we hear.”
    “Is it safe to see Roberto?”
    One Mississippi, two Mississippi …
    “You are one of our locals. Roberto has respect for friendship and loyalty.”
    “Can I meet him at Sabor, outside, eight thirty?”
    “He will be there. Be careful. They are looking very hard for you all night.”
    “Serbs, right?”
    “El Kurac.”
    “ Gracias , Tomás.”
    In a plastic container I found a pair of black cargo pants, the ones with lots of zippered and hook-and-loop pockets. There was also a heavy denim canvas shirt with large pockets. I put them both on, along with a pair of running shoes. The eight thousand dollars went in the pockets of the cargo pants.
    A first-aid kit had large sterile pads and gauze, and I used those to wipe up blood smears from the back of the SUV. While I did that I noticed a brassy glint in the corner, almost shoved under the corner of the carpeting. It was a slug, a bullet, but no casing, sticky with blood. I blinked. This must have fallen out of Trudy’s clothes when I tore open her shirt. Maybe it hit the metal buckle on her knapsack as it went through her and stopped. The slug had traveled some distance before it hit her so was slowed some anyway. Odd: it wasn’t badly deformed. In fact, it appeared to be a special application bullet, the type used to penetrate metal and glass, not just slaughter. A chill ran up my spine. Of course. The Clause at work. The bullet gave me all the more reason to survive.
    I tucked the bullet in my pocket and gathered up the bloody bandages and put them in a pile next to the sleeping bag laid out on the workbench, along with several bottles of over-the-counter painkillers and anti-inflammatories. I set Trudy’s cell phone next to the pills and left it on.
    Most people don’t realize how intrusive cell phones can be. The FBI can virtually listen in on any call and read any text message—not just in real time, but after the fact, because all calls are stored for a short time. Certain phones, even when off, can be turned on and made into listening devices. Then there’s pinging. Providers like Verizon can send signals to a cell phone from different towers and time the delay to triangulate and