Greed parks and gets out. He’s forty and fit, wavy gray hair. I see his reflection as he walks up, and I’m careful to keep my back to him. He smiles small, trying to keep his good luck under wraps and not tip me to my own stupidity. He approaches, checking out my butt, his smile tight and dry.

“Allison. Rex.”

I impatiently wave him toward me but I don’t turn around. I can’t allow a mere person to interrupt a cell call.

Rex walks obediently toward me, stops, looks around. “Where’s the car?”

I can’t let him come any closer or he’ll make me. Or at least he should.

In the window, reflected Rex looks oddly hopeful, then I turn, take a quick step up to him and place Cañonita right in front of his eyes. The two barrels must look gigantic to him at this range. Tunnels to hell.

“Fuck,” he says quietly. “You.”

Rex backpedals off-balance, falls but gets up and backpedals again. Two seconds later I’ve got him over the hood of his ancient sedan, gun pressed up nice and snug to his forehead. I’m physically strong, have a black belt in hapkido, and I’m swearing at him in a very calm voice. Through the windshield I see the envelope on the passenger seat and think to myself, Mother of God, people do the dumbest things, which is exactly why I do so well in my business.

“Is that my money, shithead? That better be my money I see in there.”

Of course I talk like this because I’m half terrified that something might go wrong. Terrified I’ll have to shoot this guy-there’s a first time for everything. The words are just weapons, something I can use to hurt and scare him.

He picks this moment to try to turn things around. Almost every guy will try to fight you. Most dudes just cannot get jacked at gunpoint by a woman without putting up a fight-they’re incapable of it. I feel his body tighten and hear him holding his breath, and I know he’s about to explode on me, so I blast him with the full-strength pepper spray I have ready in my left hand, and he writhes away and slides down to the driveway with an agonized moan.