"No, Billy," a new voice came – a voice of authority, full of cold menace… sure of itself.

Billy spun around and found himself facing the barrel of the well-dressed man's gun.

"Put it away, Billy. Put it away… now!" the man said, his finger white on the trigger.

There was silence for a moment – a silence broken only by the sound of excited spittle sliding down Pop's throat as he swallowed, and the sudden scrabble of paws against wood as Rex scrambled to his feet.

"Stay," Bill commanded, not taking his eyes off the man. When he was satisfied that the German Shepherd was going to obey, he asked, "Why shouldn't I kill that little son of a bitch? Give me one reason. He let the girl escape. He's the one who almost got us picked up even before we left the prison. Why shouldn't I put a bullet in his fucking brain?"

"Because you need him. He's a good mechanic and you'll need him if anything goes wrong with the boat when you're en route to the island."

"He's trouble," Billy said.

"He's a mechanic, and you might need him," the man repeated.

Ellen stared at the showdown between the two men and then saw Billy's shoulders slump in defeat. Gradually he lowered his gun. The other man's expression remained unchanged; he waited until Billy's gun was back in his waistband and then put his own weapon away.

Once assured that he was safe, Vito got quickly to his feet again. He stumbled as he stood, falling against Sylvia. "Get yer cruddy hands off me, you fucking little creep," she said in disgust, shoving him away.

Pop and Cash both guffawed loudly and Billy nodded as if he finally agreed with something the tall brunette said. Vito's mouth tightened and his wiry figure stiffened dangerously.

Sylvia stood her ground, smirking at him. "Don't ruffle up your feathers at me, pigshit. You ain't got no knife to back you up now… or had you forgotten you threw it away when you were crapping in your britches a couple of seconds ago. It's too bad Billy didn't shoot you."