He'd married McGuire's sister, was godfather to one of McGuire's daughters, as Moses was to his.

Family.

Hardy slid in and dumped the package onto the seat between them. "There's your vest. I did have the extra." Saying it aloud seemed to cost him some energy. He drew a deep breath and took a last look back at his house as the truck moved into gear. Turning back to his brother-in-law, he asked, "What are you carrying?"

McGuire motioned over his shoulder, indicating the truck bed. "I got fifty shells and my over and under wrapped in the tarp back there."

"Twelve gauge?"

"Yeah, and in there"-McGuire pointed to the glove box-"I got my Sig."

"Automatic?"

He caught Hardy's tone of disapproval. "They don't always jam," he said.

"Only takes once."

"I expect I'll be using the shotgun anyway."

The truck turned a couple of corners, the men riding in silence until they were rolling on Geary. McGuire blew on his hands again. Finally, Hardy spoke. "You okay with this?"

McGuire looked across the seat, his dark eyes flat. "Completely. You not?"

Hardy worked his mouth, shook his head. "I don't see another choice."

"That's 'cause there isn't one."

"I know. I know. It's just…"

"There's always another choice?"

"Usually."

"Not this time." McGuire bit it off, impatient. He accelerated angrily through a yellow light. "You already tried all of them."

"Maybe not all. That's what I worry about. This would be a bad time to get pulled over, don't you think?"

McGuire touched the brake, slowed a hair. He slammed his hand on the dashboard. "Come on, heater, kick in. Fuck."

Hardy ignored the outburst. "I just think," he said, "we do this, then what?"

"Then we're alive, how about that? We don't, we're not. It's that simple." The next light was red and he had to stop, took the moment to make eye contact. "How many people do these guys have to kill, Diz? How many have they already killed?"