Curly's eyes flew open. He opened his mouth to say something.

"Shut up." Kurtz nodded toward Larry. "Kick him out."

The pale ex-con's face paled even further. "JesusfuckingChrist. I can't just—"

"Kick him out," said Kurtz, glancing back at the road and then turning around to aim the.38 at Curly's face.

His wrists handcuffed behind him, Curly shoved Moe aside with his shoulder, lifted his legs, and kicked Larry out the door. He had to kick twice to get him out. Cold air whirled inside the car. Possibly because of the storm, traffic on the Youngman was light.

"Who hired you to kill me?" asked Kurtz. "Be careful… you don't get many chances at the right answer."

"Jesus Christ," moaned Curly. "No one hired us. I don't even fucking know who you are. I don't even—"

"Wrong answer," said Kurtz. He nodded at Moe and then at the open door. Icy pavement was roaring by.

"Jesus Christ, I can't… he's still alive… listen to me, please…"

The Volvo tried to slide a bit as they came around a curve on the ice. Keeping one eye on the rearview mirror, Kurtz corrected the slide, turned back, and aimed the pistol at Curly's crotch. "Now," he said.

Moe started to gain consciousness as Curly kicked him across the seat to the open door. The icy air revived Moe enough that the bigger man reached up and grabbed the seat back and held on for dear life. Curly glanced at Kurtz's pistol and kicked Moe in the belly and face with both feet. Moe flew out into the night, striking the pavement with an audible wet noise.

Curly was panting, almost hyperventilating, as he looked up at Kurtz's weapon. His legs were up on the back seat, but he was obviously concocting a way to kick at Kurtz.

"Move those feet without permission and I put two into your belly," Kurtz said softly. "Let's try again. Who hired you? Remember, you don't have any wrong answers left."