when the door rolled up on the loading dock once again, and a large man in a white lab coat stepped outside. The door rolled shut behind him. He looked up and down the street for a moment, lit the cigarette clamped between his teeth, and ambled south. Ed and Sam exchanged glances. Ed nodded and twisted the key. He hit the gas and pulled up alongside the large, shaggy man. Sam had the door open and his pistol out before Ed had even stopped. “Chicago PD. Get in the car.” The man gaped at them, cigarette halfway to his mouth. “I’m sorry, what?” Sam said, “Shut the fuck up and get in the car.” He opened the back door. The man looked up and down the deserted street as if seeking any witnesses, then climbed in the backseat with Qween. Sam kicked the door shut and jumped back into the front seat. Ed headed south in a short squeal of rubber. Sam twisted in his seat to face the big man and found that Qween already had a straight razor buried in the guy’s straggly beard, pressed firmly against his throat.
