In the meantime, I waited.

Sharing a room with a dead man can be a less than pleasant experience, especially if the man’s bowels empty when he dies, as is common. All of a sudden you begin to understand how the tradition of flowers at funerals got started. But this corpse had better manners than most, and wasn’t smelling up the room at all. He was, in fact, better company than a lot of people I’ve met.

The only bad thing about him was he was a size smaller than me, and his clothes made a tight, slightly uncomfortable fit. But I did have the silenced nine- millimeter to thank him for, so what the hell. You can’t have everything.

I was just wondering if I could get away with clearing my throat when I realized I wasn’t alone.

I’d expected him to be good, but this was ridiculous. He was a few feet away from me before I even knew he was inside. The second guy, I mean, not the corpse. The corpse was staying put. But his partner was inching silently toward the spare bedroom, moving down the hall like something floating. He must have come in through the living room, which was damn near impossible. The door in there creaked, and the only way to open the windows from the outside was with a screwdriver or maybe a crowbar; and once open, the windows led in over all sorts of furniture, which would in turn lead to making all sorts of noise.

But there had been no noise, and I was so surprised to sense him approaching, I almost moved.

He stooped down to me. Touched my shoulder with his left hand. His right hand had a gun in it. “Beatty?” he said.

I grabbed his right hand and shook the gun loose. I nudged his belly with the nine-millimeter. “Up,” I said.

We stood together. Slowly. His gun on the floor, mine in his gut.

“You must be Quarry,” he said.

3