said the woman at the door. “Lady, you have no idea,” said Ricky Messina, his face breaking into a wide grin. “No idea at all.” He put his hand in the vinyl warmer and brought out his High Standard Victor. An absolute beauty, five and a half inches of blue steel with gold-plate detailing. She didn’t seem to care for it much, but that was fine by Ricky. Her scared eyes and open mouth just added to her allure, which was considerable, even though she was on the old side for Ricky, letting her hair go grey. “Who else is in the house?” he asked. She glanced around wildly, a pulse beating visibly in her throat. He laid the barrel of the gun against where it beat. “Tell me how many,” he said. “Or you’ll be one less.” “Two,” she said quickly. “Men?” “Yes,” she said. “They have guns?” “I—I don’t—” “Strictly yes or no,” Ricky said. “No.” “Where are they?” “The den. Right there.” She indicated a closed door with a nod of her head. “Knock.”
