“This one’s got more than change. Let’s get him in here.”

He rammed the barrel of the Browning against Chavasse’s spine and drove him into the darkness.

All this was seen from the Mercedes.

Volpe said, “Those bastards. Why the gun?”

There was the sound of a shot. Vinelli braked to a halt and got the door open.

IN THE MALL THE ONE WITH THE BROWNING rammed it even harder into Chavasse.

“A nice fat wallet here I’d say, so let’s stay friendly. You can call me Tommy.”

Chavasse raised his right elbow, struck backwards into the face, turned sideways, pushing the Browning away, grabbed for the barrel, twisted it free and had the gun in his hand.

“You should never get that close to anyone.”

He pivoted, rammed the barrel of the Browning into the back of Tommy’s right knee and pulled the trigger. Tommy staggered into the wall and fell down with a cry.

The other one backed away, hands raised.

“Heh, man, don’t do it.”

Vinelli arrived, a gun in his hand, Volpe behind him.

They looked at Tommy lying on the ground and Chavasse tendered the Browning to Vinelli.

“Not mine, his.” He looked down at the boy. “Terrible class of muggers these days. Not too competent.”

Volpe held out his hand. “Mario Volpe, Sir Paul. We were worried about you so I figured we’d check the hotel. Aldo recognized you from London, so we were following. I mean, scum like this, what can I say?”

“Not much, I expect. Can we go now?”

“Sure.” Volpe turned to Vinelli. “Take care of this, Aldo. I’ll drive Sir Paul to the Trump, you follow on foot.”

He took Chavasse by the arm and led him away. Aldo turned, reached for the youth who was standing and pulled him close.

“You were supposed to jump him and wait for us to come to the rescue and what do we get? A gun, for Christ’s sake.”

“It was Tommy. He’s on crack.”