“Say he’s got all this skim money,” Louis said. “Where you think he keeps it?”

“That’s the first thing we find out.” Chip was looking at the TV screen again, at Bobby Deo coming away from the pool toward the house. “How much Harry’s got liquid he can get his hands on.” Chip moved across the room, glanced at Louis to say, “Here we go,” and opened the door.

He stood waiting as Bobby came through the sunroom into the study, Bobby looking at the TV screen, the empty patio showing, then at Louis standing with his hands on his hips, then at the shotgun lying on the sofa.

“You understand,” Chip said, “you were covered all the time you were out there. If you hadn’t put those snippers away when you did, you could’ve taken a load of buckshot in the ass. I just want you to know that.”

The man talking now with backup, confident as can be. Louis watched Bobby turn his way.

“You work for this guy?”

Louis shrugged. “We got something on.”

Chip said, “I believe you know my partner, Louis Lewis?”

Presenting one ex-con to another, the man watching to see the effect on Bobby Deo, a different situation than when they were outside. Louis and Bobby looked at each other with no expression to speak of.

Bobby saying, “Use to be Abu, the Bahamian Arabian,” with a mild expression now, pleasant enough.

And now Louis showed a slight smile telling him, “I gave up that shit once I got my release. What we’d like to know, Señor Deogracias, the bill collector, if you think you ready for the big time.”

See what he thought of that.

But then Chip stepped in saying, “What Louis means-something we’ve been talking about here-we wonder if you’d be interested in a proposition.”

Bobby looked at Louis and Louis said, “A score, a big one.”

Bobby seemed to consider it for a moment. He said, “How much we talking about?”