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"Shut up."

"You think you're the only one with a grudge?" The Engineer pouted. "I'm the wounded party here. You're the one who stepped into my situation with Lazurus. I spent months setting that up, and you and Kimberly trashed it in a few weeks. If anyone is owed an apology-"

Thorpe backhanded him.

The Engineer stayed on his feet, spitting blood now. "Okay… okay. Let's agree to disagree. We can do business. That's all that matters."

"Where's Gregor?"

The Engineer dabbed at his mouth. "That's another sad story. Poor Gregor. I offered him a management opportunity, but, in the end, he just wasn't able to meet my exacting standards. In spite of my efforts, he was just another load of meat."

"How did you find me?"

"Secrets are the basis of any relationship, Frank. You keep yours and I'll keep mine. We should be focusing on the future. I have my contacts and suppliers; you have yours. We don't have to be friends, but it would be a terrible waste not to become partners."

Thorpe had spent months trying to find the Engineer, and now that he had him, he didn't know what to do. He had assumed there would be some sort of confrontation, with Gregor present, and plenty of the ultraviolence. Thorpe had assumed he would kill them both, or die trying, but this… Killing him now would be murder. Turning the Engineer over to the police was tempting. The Engineer's old shop would cover up any crimes he had committed on their watch, but maybe he had gotten careless lately. Perhaps he was wanted, fingerprints and eyewitnesses waiting to put him away. Warren could hack some police databases, see what came up. It wouldn't be as satisfying as killing the son of a bitch, but after the scene with Vlad, Thorpe had had enough of death.

"What are you thinking, Frank?"

"Trying to decide what to do with you."

The Engineer pursed his lips. "You could treasure me for the rare and unique individual that I am."

"That's not one of my options."

The Engineer laughed. "Come on, let's get rich and have some laughs. That's what it's all about, isn't it?"

Thorpe checked the front door to his apartment. The tiny bit of clear wax pressed against the upper jamb was uncracked, undisturbed. He opened the door, grabbed the Engineer by the back of the neck, and pushed him inside. Thorpe stepped in, crouched, the 9-mm sweeping from side to side.

The Engineer looked up from the floor. "You're not very trusting."

Thorpe locked the door behind him and went through the house, the gun cocked. He checked the bathroom, the closets, even looked under the bed. The windows were still locked from the inside, their own wax seals intact. They were alone.

"Can I get up now?" The Engineer fingered his necktie. "Please?"

Thorpe beckoned him.

The Engineer awkwardly got to his feet. "That's… better." He held his hands out, losing his balance.

Thorpe reached for him. It was a reaction, not a thought. As he steadied him, the Engineer snatched off his tie, jammed it under Thorpe's nose. Thorpe heard a faint crackle of breaking glass, and his knees buckled. When Thorpe awoke, he was seated in his leather chair, he had a ringing headache, and he and the Engineer weren't alone.

Gregor squinted at him, over three hundred pounds of ugly, his belly flopping out of the purple jogging suit. The Cyrillic tattoos ringing his thick neck seemed stretched, as though he had swallowed a Great Dane. His face was puffy and scabbed over, his left ear bandaged. "He is awake."

"It's a real mind fuck, isn't it, Frank?" said the Engineer.

Thorpe stared back at Gregor and knew that all the bad thoughts that had come to him while listening to Vlad were true. Arturo hadn't killed Bishop. Arturo had killed more than enough to deserve killing, but he hadn't killed Ray Bishop.

"Hey!" Gregor kicked Thorpe in the shin. "He's talking to you."

"Yeah, it's a real mind fuck." Thorpe was still weak from the anesthetic the Engineer had used on him, so numb that he had barely felt Gregor's kick. The only sensation he had was fear. He had been under fire, had jumped out of planes and crawled through tunnels where the darkness was thick with spiders, but now, sitting in his own living room, it was all Thorpe could do to stop his teeth from chattering. He wasn't afraid of dying. He had long since given up hope of a cozy old age, surrounded by grandchildren. It was losing to the Engineer that he was afraid of. Losing to the Engineer again.

"What is it, Frank?" asked the Engineer. "You look like you have something on your mind."

"I was just wondering what happened to Gregor? Did he try stopping a train with his face?"

"A few bumps and bruises, but I think it adds to his charm."

Thorpe smiled. "Looks like it must have hurt."

The Engineer pulled up another chair. They were almost knee-to-knee now. "Don't bother feeling under the cushion. We found the pistol you stashed. Found the one in the sofa, too. I like the way you plan ahead, the way you try and anticipate the worst. That's very laudable." He leaned closer.

Thorpe looked into the Engineer's eyes and thought of Vlad. Vlad had killed at least as many men as the Engineer, had gathered up lives by the handful, but his blue eyes were dim and dying, the sad eyes of a lost boy. The Engineer's eyes were dark and mature in their evil, full of a grimy eagerness for the work.

"In all your planning, though, did you ever foresee your present situation?" asked the Engineer. "Your hidden weapons found, the boogeyman inside your door, sitting right next to you, in fact, close enough to kiss." He smiled. "I guess what I'm asking, Frank, is did you ever imagine things going this far wrong?"

"So far so good."

"Indeed," said the Engineer. "I haven't hit you, haven't tied you up or restrained you in any way, haven't brutalized you. We're just a couple of men of the world having a talk." He smiled. "Since I quit the shop, things haven't gone as well as I'd hoped. Mistakes and miscalculations were made. I'm not complaining, but your personnel file was like an answer to a prayer. Some very interesting notations in that file, suggestions that you had been less than a loyal employee. Money-laundering takedowns that came up short, warehouses that turned up empty-you had some nice paydays."

Thorpe wiggled his toes, spread the fingers of his hands. Progress. Hope was the only antidote to fear, and he clung to that hope. He was going to get out of this. He was.

"You walked away with a bundle, Frank. I like a man with initiative."

Thorpe's head still throbbed, but he was breathing deeper now. "Ancient history."

The Engineer shook his head. "Not eggs-actly," he said, sounding just like Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Gregor chuckled, fists clenching and unclenching.

The Engineer beamed at Thorpe. "I like to amuse Gregor with my imitations: Irish brogue, Eddie Murphy, laid-back surfer, Boston Brahmin, Valley Girl… He's particularly fond of my Bill Clinton: 'Hilly Mae, put down that rollin' pin, darlin'."

"Very fond of Mr. Bill Clinton," agreed Gregor.

"Of course, you're already familiar with my Italian intellectual-"

"Are we going to work out our deal? This shit is boring me."

"Well, we can't have that," said the Engineer, sleepy eyes glittering. He walked over to the desk. Thorpe's laptop was already turned on. "What's your password?"

Thorpe thought about it. "Onyx three two three."

The Engineer tapped in the password, smiled as the operating system opened up. "I'm glad you didn't make me ask you again," he said, ripping through the files. "You'd be surprised how many people think they need to put on a show of resistance. I'm not sure if they're trying to impress me, or ministering to some ego need of their own…" He stared at the screen. "An empty address book? How do you keep in touch?"

"I'm a lousy correspondent."

"What I'm looking for are your business contacts, your connections-buyers and sellers, all the little people you use and abuse. That's what you bring to the table."