“Stay with them,” Scanlon ordered. “I want you to make sure that they don’t listen in.”

The lawyer picked up his briefcase and followed Linda Morgan to the door. Soon Scott and Scanlon were alone. In the movies, killers are omnipotent. In real life, they are not. They don’t escape from handcuffs in the middle of a high-security federal penitentiary. The Beef Brothers, Scott knew, would be behind the one-way glass. The intercom, per Scanlon’s instructions, would be off. But they’d all be watching.

Scott shrugged a well? at him.

“I am not your typical assassin for hire.”

“Uh huh.”

“I have rules.”

Scott waited.

“For example, I only kill men.”

“Wow,” Scott said. “You’re a prince.”

Scanlon ignored the sarcasm. “That is my first rule. I kill only men. No women.”

“Right. Tell me, does rule two have anything to do with not putting out until the third date?”

“You think I’m a monster?”

Scott shrugged as if the answer was obvious.

“You don’t respect my rules?”

“What rules? You kill people. You make up these so-called rules because you need the illusion of being human.”

Scanlon seemed to consider that. “Perhaps,” he allowed, “but the men I’ve killed were scum. I was hired by scum to kill scum. I am no more than a weapon.”

“A weapon?” Scott repeated.

“Yes.”

“A weapon doesn’t care who it kills, Monte. Men, women, grannies, little kids. A weapon doesn’t differentiate.”

Scanlon smiled. “Touché.”

Scott rubbed his palms on his pant legs. “You didn’t call me here for an ethics class. What do you want?”

“You’re divorced, aren’t you, Scott?”