He had the shark eyes on. I knew what he was up to, knew what he was building up to. I’m just sad that I was right.”

“What did you do to him? Do I need to call the cops?”

“No! No cops. I told you that this was strictly off the books. Guys like him wriggle and squirm their way out of things. They make a deal, inform on someone else, shit like that. Then he would be back out on the streets.”

“Did he have a gun?”

“Chrissie, it’s best if you don’t know the details. Just sleep easy tonight knowing that he’ll never bother you again. He’s gone from Miami for good.”

“But what if he comes back, starts stalking me again?”

“He won’t. He’s taking a boat across the River Styx as we speak.”

“I don’t know where that is,” replied Chrissie.

The corners of Danny’s mouth twitched into the briefest of smiles. “Don’t worry about it. Just know he’s gone.”

“Can I come home now?”

Danny looked down at the vacant gaze of the corpse in front of him, then at the roll of thick plastic sheeting that sat ready behind the couch. “Give me another hour or so. I’ll call you again.”

“Okay. I don’t know how to thank you!”

“Well, I still need more work with those kettle bells.”

Danny smiled again as she gave a nervous laugh. He liked her laugh. Liked it a lot.

“I think I can help you with that.”

He looked down at the increased definition of his forearm muscles. “Gotta love those kettle bells. I’ll give you a call in a wee while, then you can come home.”

5

Clay Gunn’s closest neighbour lived a little short of three miles away and that suited him just fine. While by no means anti-social, he preferred his privacy on a day-to-day basis. The city of Austin was less than an hour away, an easy drive on a long straight road. More than enough people there if he sought conversation. But his house, standing at the centre of his modest patch of land, was his current destination. Home.

Clay guided his bike down the driveway, the light from the twin halogens illuminating his home in a blue-tinged splendour. The Harley-Davidson 1200 Custom was the latest addition to his collection. Another four bikes sat inside, one of his few perceptible indulgences. Clay embraced anything with an engine: bikes, cars, his oversized Winnebago and, more recently, jet-skis and powerboats.

Clay smiled at the sight of home. He had been on the road for over a month. The house was surrounded by an adobe-clad wall, framing the perimeter enough to provide comfortable areas of shade when the Texan sun was proving its most determined. The grounds were pristine and surprisingly green, albeit populated with the hardier plants that favoured the Texan climate.