“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” I smile lazily as their jaws drop. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

“You… you…,” Cathal gasps, taking a few involuntary steps away from me as if I’m some supernatural monster. Which I suppose I am.

“You four — beat it!” Frank barks at the Troops by the window. They stare at him uncertainly, then at the ten men behind him, then nod obediently and make themselves scarce.

“You just can’t find good help these days,” I tut, locating my chair and slumping into it.

“We killed you,” Gico moans, face ashen. One of the men to his left is crying. The other’s shaking his head numbly. Cathal has backed up to the window. If it were open he’d probably back all the way off the balcony and save us the price of a bullet.

“Some men are harder to keep down than others,” I murmur.

“We killed you,” Gico says again, stubborn to the last. “You’re dead. I pushed you over.” He looks to Frank and Jerry appealingly. “We killed him!”

“Time to return the favor,” Frank grunts and gives the signal. His Troops circle the traitors.

“No!” Gico howls, trying to break through to me. “You’re dead! We killed you! We—”

A Troop clubs him over the back of the head and he falls limp to the floor. The others are swiftly subdued, even the normally fierce Cathal Sampedro. I tend to have that effect on people when I return from the dead.

“Take them to the yard,” Frank says, and his Troops bundle the prisoners out of the office, down the hall to the elevator. The executions will be short and unceremonial. No need for me to be present.

“Nice to be back?” Jerry asks.

“There’s no place like home,” I agree, testing the chair, making sure Gico hasn’t tampered with it.