Copyright © 2007 by Marcus Sakey.

The alley wasn’t as dark as Danny would’ve liked, and Evan was driving him crazy, spinning the snub-nose like a cowboy in some Sunday matinee. “Would you put that away?”

“Keeps me cool.” Evan smiled the bar-fight grin that showed his chipped tooth.

“I don’t care if it makes you feel like Rick James. You shouldn’t have brought it.” Danny stared until his partner sighed and tucked the pistol into the back of his belt. Evan had always lived for the thrill of the job, all the way back to when they had stolen forties of Mickeys from the 7-Eleven. But the addition of the gun made Danny uneasy. Made him wonder if Karen was right to suggest he start thinking long-term. Reconsider his options.

He shook his head and stared out the window. Earlier, munching greasy chips in a taco bar across the street, they’d watched the owner of the pawnshop lock up. The dashboard clock now read just after eleven, and the alley was stone quiet. Chicago life centered on the neighborhoods; once night fell, the downtown area died. Twenty minutes ago they’d cut the phone lines without a show from the cops, which meant no cellular alarm. Everything looked good.

Until something moved.

Fifteen yards away, in a pocket of black. There, then gone again. Like someone stepping carefully. Like someone hiding. Danny leaned forward, one hand covering the glowing radio to sharpen his night vision. Shadows painted dingy brick walls with a black brush. A breeze sent a newspaper tumbling by the passenger side window. Maybe he’d just seen blowing trash and his mind had filled in the rest of the picture. The tension could get to you.