LITMIR.BIZ

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but his hands tightened on the steering wheel in telling agitation. “I love her. I want what’s best for her.”

      “Yeah? And who would know what that might be more than Daisy herself?”

      Red growled, “If you’re suggesting I’m too—”

      “She married you, right?” Clint barely restrained his grin. “She must think you’re what’s best.”

      Predictably enough, Red flushed hotly, making Clint chuckle. Clint spent the rest of the drive annoying his pal, but his humor died a quick death when they turned onto Buxton Street.

      “There it is, that big brick building.” Red pulled up to the curb several houses away. They didn’t want to look too obvious by getting any closer. Already, the green van was as conspicuous here as it had been in the ritzy neighborhood.

      But for opposite reasons.

      The rundown houses, some of them no more than shacks, were mostly abandoned. What vehicles cluttered the road were either rusted with age or sleek and black and parked in front of Asa Ragon’s home.

      A family-type minivan didn’t fit in.

      Clint opened the door and stepped out. Elderly people on a sloped porch across the street stared at him, then got up and ambled inside.

      “You got your piece?” Red asked through the open door.

      “I don’t answer stupid questions.” His gun and his knife were a part of him. He’d go without underwear before he’d leave either one behind. But it was a rare occasion indeed when Clint used them. More often than not, his hands and feet served well enough as weapons. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

      He started to slam the door, but Red stopped him. “If you’re not, I’m driving right through the front picture window.”

      Clint grinned, knowing Red would do exactly that.

      The cracked sidewalk had weeds poking through it, mixed with pieces of broken glass and cigarette butts. The pavement around Asa Ragon’s house, however, had been swept clean. At the end of the cul-de-sac, it towered over the other houses, an impressive brick two story with sturdy shutters and a tall chain-link fence. As Clint neared that fence, a man appeared in the front door.

      Clint never slowed. He went through the unlocked gate and up the path to the porch steps. The man stepped out and glared. “Who are you and whatdya want?”

      “I’m here to see Asa.”

      “He ain’t home.”

      “Liar.”

      Outraged color flooded the man’s face two seconds before he attacked. Clint caught the raised gun hand and pulled him forward, at the same time driving an elbow into his jaw. The man went down hard and fast, and Clint was barely able to keep him from toppling down the steps. He didn’t want any broken necks on his conscience—his stomach wouldn’t survive.

      He propped the poor fellow against the porch rail and entered through the front door.

      Voices trailed from down a long hall. As Clint neared, he realized he’d busted in on a party. He passed a modern kitchen where several people milled about. Two men turned to stare at him in disbelief. A woman eyed him up and down with a hello smile.

      Clint ignored them all.

      Through an open doorway, he saw the family room. Walls had been removed in an obvious renovation so that the family room was extra long, filled with a billiard table, wet bar, and sliding doors that opened to a patio and built-in pool. Over twenty people crowded the room, men and women, all chatting and drinking. More couples lingered outside on lounge chairs and in the water. The sickening sweet scent of pot clouded the air, mingling with tobacco smoke and the drone of drunken conversation. Everyone was so busy laughing and drinking, no one noticed him.

      Amazing.

      Clint lounged in the doorway. “Where’s Asa?”

      At the intrusion of his voice, heads turned his way. The sudden silence left only loud rap music vibrating in the air.

      A middle-aged man, stylish but overweight, with graying hair and a noticeable scar on his nose, laughed in amazement. “I have an uninvited guest?”

      Even if Clint hadn’t recognized the air of importance, he’d have noticed the sandpaper voice. This was Asa Ragon. Deference got thrown his way, and protection was silently offered by the swarming of other men. “I need a minute of your time; then you can get back to your party.”

      Incredulous, Asa looked around and when he laughed, everyone else followed suit.

      Clint kept his arms loose at his sides, his posture relaxed, his expression bored. He stared at Asa with his most intimidating expression, and the laughter died.

      The women in the room—most of them young, some of them beautiful—all moved nervously, getting out of the way as if expecting an explosion. The men edged closer to Asa, displaying loyalty and the willingness to serve.

      With a lazy look, Clint said, “That’s not necessary, you know. Right now, all I want to do is talk.”

      Disbelief hung heavy in the air.

      A few of the men made an aggressive move toward Clint, but Asa held them back with a lift of his hand. “I’m curious,” he rasped with a rough laugh. “And intrigued. You have balls, friend, to come in here like this.”

      Clint glanced around at the men stiffened with hostility, and he smiled, too. He looked back at Asa. “I’m not your friend. But I would prefer to do this the easy way, so less questions get asked. I’m guessing you don’t like questions any more than I do.”

      “But you still intend to ask a few?”

      “Yeah.”

      Asa hauled himself off the couch, pausing to whisper to the woman at his right, then pat the woman’s butt to his left. “Through here.” He gestured to Clint, indicating a door located behind the pool table.

      Clint strolled forward. Though he looked unconcerned, he had a heightened awareness of every breath around him, every nuance of anticipation. He stayed loose limbed, prepared to move in any direction if necessary. He preceded Asa into the room and was followed by three hulks before Asa entered. The door shut behind them.

      Clint turned to face Asa and the others, waiting to see what would happen now, ready for whatever it might be.

      Asa tilted his head in a curious fashion. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have my men beat you senseless.”

      Clint shrugged. “They’re of more use to you alive than dead.”

      “Meaning?”

      “Meaning I can’t guarantee they’ll survive if they attack me.” Clint looked at the livid man closest to him and shook his head. He was large, muscle bound, and in his late twenties. He would pose no challenge at all. “I know you want to, son, but the humiliation might be more than you can bear.”

      Asa again chose to be amused. His scratchy laugh filled the air until tears ran down his pudgy cheeks. The other men saw no humor. Finally, Asa gestured toward a table. “Sit, sit. I can tell you won’t bore me.”

      This room wasn’t as nice as the game room. A round wooden table and four chairs were in the middle of the floor. A bare bulb hung overhead. The room was small and crowded and as he sat, Clint planned a number of moves in case things turned ugly.

      Asa seated himself across from him, and the other men stationed themselves around the room. “Who are you?”

      “You can call me Clint.”

      “No last names, eh? A wise man. So tell me, Clint, who do you work for?”

      “Myself.”

      “Ah, no, I don’t think so. Someone has paid you to come here.”

      “Actually,

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