“Look, Mr. Dorn-I’m smart enough to know who not to screw with. I promise, the retainer will assure my loyalty.”

Dorn gave a nod to Symian. The bundled-up man pulled a small velvet sack out of his coat pocket.

“I disagree,” Dorn said. “Where I come from, fealty is a matter of life and death. Since your oaths mean little, you have to give us something very important to you. Something you could never live without.”

That’s a new twist. Colby had never been asked to put up collateral for a job. “I thought you read the Post article. I put up most of my money for bail. The government took my passport and froze my assets until the investigation is complete. I sleep on that fold-out couch over there. I got nothing to give you.” Colby glanced at the photo of Tory, and immediately regretted it. “My boy’s a quadriplegic. I won’t lift a damn finger if you bring him into this.”

“I do not want your son,” Dorn said. “Some creatures throw their young to the wolves if it means one more day for themselves. I have something more dear to you in mind. Hesz.”

The large man scurried behind the detective in a flash, faster than Colby thought possible for someone so big, and locked him in a full nelson.

“What the hell are you doing?” the detective shouted. “Carla! Call the cops!” The detective struggled, but Hesz’s grip was like refrigerated steel. It was only when Hesz was breathing right on top of him that Colby finally realized the mist coming out of his mouth wasn’t cigarette smoke… it was frost. As was the “dandruff” on the man’s suit.

“Call the cops!” Colby shouted again.

Symian walked up to him. He glanced at Dorn and said, “Bet you a purse of Krakens it bursts. He doesn’t look too healthy.”

Dorn gave Symian a fierce look and said, “If he dies, I’ll braid your liver into a rope and hang you with it.”