Firebreak

you, I saw him today.'

That drew an astounded silence. Paul stared at her, and even Matt roused himself to blink in her direction. And finally, Paul said, 'You saw him? Where?'

'Out front. He was walking up the street, he turned onto Bank.'

Paul took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. The hand holding the glasses shook. 'He's here,' he said. 'He found us.'

'This is you, goddamit,' Matt told him. His voice rumbled now, and wheezed, from all the extra weight. Glaring at Paul, he said, 'You fucked it up again, god-damit!'

'Charov was supposed to—'

'Charov!' Matt pounded his wheelchair arm. 'Fucking Russian wasn't as good as he thought he was! None of you fucking people— If /could do something!'

'I have to call them,' Paul said, and jumped up, and ran upstairs to make the call where Pam wouldn't hear it-

There were always things Paul had to keep from her, both in how he made his money and how he spent his evenings when he dressed up and went out smelling of cologne, and she was happy to be kept in the dark. She didn't want to know. His electronics shop on Fourteenth Street made a profit, but she knew that wasn't his real income, that wouldn't pay for this house or all the money he'd spent on her and her family over the years.

Matt turned his heavy glower in her direction, while she listened to the murmur of Paul on the phone upstairs. 'A fat lot of help you'll be, he grumbled.

'I've been of help in the past,' she told him. 'I've been of help to you' She didn't have to put up with his bad temper.

Matt had nothing more to say, and neither did she. Picking up her fork, she tried to eat, listening to the sounds of Paul from upstairs, then his footsteps hurrying back down.

He was white when he came into the room. He didn't sit at his place at the table, but just stood there, barely beyond the doorway^ staring with a horrified expression at Matt. 'They cut us off.'

Matt lifted his head. 'What? They can't do that!'

'They did it.' Paul seemed distracted, despairing, bewildered. 'He went to them, he did something, I don't know what. They won't help any more. They told Parker they were out of it!'

'Told him!' Matt pounded the wheelchair arm. 'Get me a gun! This time it's my turn, goddamit! Get me a gun!'

'Matt—'

Pam said, quietly, 'Paul. If you give Matt a gun, I'm leaving.'

'Goddam bitch!'

'That's all right, Matt,' Paul said, and started to pat his shoulder, then realized this wasn't the time to get within arm's reach. Standing just far enough away, he said, 'You don't need a gun, Matt. We'll figure this out. Don't worry, baby, he won't get in here. We'll figure it out.'

3

At home, Frank Elkins and Ralph Wiss were completely different from the roles they played on the road. At home, they were family men, living not far from each other in the same Chicago suburb, involving themselves with their families and their community. They both had large extended families, several children each, and cousins and in-laws in all directions, but not one of those people knew what Elkins and Wiss really did for a living, except their wives. The two were known to work together, to travel a lot, and to bring home enough for a comfortable income, but that was all. 'We do specialty promotions,' Elkins would say, if pressed, as they rarely were, and Wiss would nod. They did specialty promotions.

Elkins considered himself very lucky, both in his family and in his partner. A lot of the guys he knew were loners, and didn't have much joy in their lives;

that wasn't him. As for the partner, it was Ralph Wiss who had the expertise, the craft. Elkins was just along to do the heavy lifting. Wiss was the one who knew safes and vaults, how they were locked, how they could be opened. Wiss did the brain work; once the door was breached, all Elkins had to do was pick up the contents and carry it home.

The Montana job had seemed made to order for them. There were clever locks for Wiss to play with, and a lot of heavy lifting. Too much for just the two of them, which was why they'd brought in Corbett and Dolan. Harry Corbett and Bob Dolan were younger than Elkins and Wiss, but both had been inside and had learned caution. Elkins and Wiss had worked with them in the past, and there'd never been any problem.

Now, there was a problem. Corbett and Dolan were ready to skip, start again with new names and new faces, but that took money. And they, too, had families, and it was their families who had put up the heavy bail money. If Corbett and Dolan couldn't make their families whole again on the bail, with enough left over for themselves, they'd have no choice but to stay and do the time. But that meant they'd also have no choice but to trade Elkins and Wiss for a shortening of that time.

It put a pressure on Elkins that he didn't like, but he couldn't see any way around it. If he were in Corbett and Dolan's shoes, he'd make the same offer. Nothing personal, just the physics of the situation.

The original message, with these alternatives, had been delivered through cutouts, Corbett and Dolan giving the word in a taped and sealed envelope to a friend who didn't know Wiss or Elkins. That friend passed it on to someone who didn't know any of the principals, but did know a friend of Wiss. Since then, a few more messages had arrived via the same route, every one of them the same: What's taking so long? Do we have a deal or not? The prosecutors are on our asses.

Wiss and Elkins were making the same reply every time: We're doing it, this is complicated, we'll get you the