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“No.”

“Fifty legal kills,” Simon said.

“Give or take,” I said.

Simon looked at Edward. They had another one of those weighted staring contests.

“Would Van Cleef like her?”

“Yes, but she wouldn’t like him.”

“Why not?”

“She’s not big on orders and listening to people just because they’ve got an extra stripe on their shoulder.”

“Not disciplined,” Simon said.

“She’s disciplined. You just got to have more than rank to get her to listen to you.”

“She listens to you,” Simon said. “She didn’t want to talk about her kills, but she took your lead.”

His saying that meant Simon was very observant, too observant for comfort actually. I’d underestimated him. Stupid of me. No, not stupid, careless.

Another man came up with the identical gun in his hands. He was just shy of six feet, but seemed smaller, delicate somehow. The hair was a deep brown, cut short, curly. The face was pretty in a girlish kind of way. His skin was that dark tan that isn’t really tan at all. He had a set of small headphones around his neck, with wires connecting them to a metal box and a small flat . . . wand attached with a cord to the box. It had to be Deuce and the wand.

I didn’t know what it was, but Edward went very still. He knew what it was, and he didn’t like it. Not a good sign.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Mickey said.

“Mickey,” Simon said, and he said “Mickey” the way that Edward could say “Olaf” and get perfect obedience. There was no more comment from the backup players. Simon looked at Deuce. “Do it.”

Deuce slipped the headphones on, hit a switch and some knobs on the box, and a light went on on the box. He got a distracted inward look on his face as if he were listening to things we couldn’t hear. He started at Edward’s hat and worked down, hesitated over the chest area, then continued the sweep. He knelt on the ground beside Edward and waved the wand up the backside of Edward. He was careful to stay out of the line of fire of all three guns. His own gun was on a sling that he pushed far behind his back, keeping it out of the way with a well-placed elbow as he moved.

He stood, slipped the headphones off, and unplugged them from the box. “Listen to this.” He waved the wand over Edward’s chest. It beeped frantically.

“Take off the shirt,” Simon said.

Edward didn’t argue. He unbuttoned the shirt and handed it to Deuce, who waved the wand over it. The thing stayed silent.

Deuce waved the wand over Edward’s chest again, and the wand beeped. He ran the wand over the shirt in his hand, no noise. Deuce shook his head.

“The undershirt,” Simon said.

Edward had to take his hat off. He handed it to me, then lifted the undershirt over his head. The Kevlar looked very artificial and white. He handed the undershirt to Deuce, and we went through the same routine again.

“Take the vest off,” Simon said.

“Tell me one thing first,” Edward asked. “Are the kids all right?”

“Why the fuck do you care about some bitch’s kids?”

Edward just looked at him, but there was something in that look that made Simon take a step back. He noticed what he’d done and took the step back, pointing the gun very solidly at Edward’s chest. “Take off the damn vest.”

“It’s too hot for body armor anyway,” Edward said. It seemed an odd thing to say for Edward, man of few words, but you had to know Edward to know it was odd. I had the feeling that Edward had just put the word out for zero survivors. He undid the Velcro, slipped it over his head and handed it to Deuce.

Edward stood there naked from the waist up. He looked fragile beside the musclebound Mickey or the very tall Simon, but they saw in him what I saw in him because unarmed and half-naked they were still scared of him. It was there in the way Simon reacted to him. The way the others, except Deuce, kept their distance. Deuce didn’t seem to be working on the same instincts as the rest, though he never once crossed the fire line. He made Edward stretch out his hand, or he knelt under the direct line of fire. None of them were careless. It wasn’t a good sign.

He ran