By the light of the moon

ice after we fold.'
    'Where's all the ice?'
    Dylan put a hand under his brother's tucked chin, raised his
head. 'Shep, this is crucial now. You understand crucial? I know
you do, buddy. It's crucial that we fold out of here.'
    'Where's all the ice?'
    Glancing at Shepherd, she saw that he refused to relate to his
brother. Behind his closed lids, his eyes moved ceaselessly.
    When Jilly returned her attention to the backyard, a man knelt
on one knee at the northwest corner of the garage. He sheltered in
shadows. She almost didn't spot him, but she was sure he hadn't
been there a moment ago.
    Another man ran in a crouch from the cover of the meadow to the south west corner of the garage.
    'They're here,' she told Dylan.
    Neither of these men wore desert-resort pastels, but they were
of a type with the faux golfers in Arizona. They were big, they
were purposeful, and they weren't going door to door to preach
salvation through Jesus.
    'Where's all the ice?'
    As far as Jilly was concerned, the scariest thing about them was
the headset that each man wore. Not just earpieces but also
extension arms that placed penny-size microphones at their mouths.
This high degree of coordination argued that the assault force had
to be larger than two men, and further suggested that these weren't
just your ordinary knee-breaking, contract-kill thugs, but thugs
with a keen sense of organization.
    'Where's all the ice?'
    The second man had covered the ground between meadow and garage.
He crouched at the southwest corner, half concealed by a shrub.
    She expected them to come well armed, so their guns were only
the second scariest thing about them. Big weapons. Sort of
futuristic looking. Probably what were called assault rifles. She
didn't know much about firearms, didn't need to know much to be a
comedian, even in front of the most unruly audience, but she
figured that these guns were capable of firing a gazillion rounds
before they needed to be reloaded.
    'Where's all the ice?'
    She and Dylan had to buy time until Shepherd could be persuaded
that the way to get cake and ice would be to fold the three
of them someplace that offered both.
    'Get away from the windows,' Jilly warned, retreating from those
that faced the backyard. 'Windows are... windows are death.'
    'Every room has windows,' Dylan worried. 'Lots of windows.'
    'Basement?'
    'Isn't one. California. Slab construction.'
    Shep asked, 'Where's all the ice?'
    Jilly said, 'They know we're here.'
    'How could they know? We didn't come in from outside.'
    'Maybe a listening device, planted in the house earlier,' she
suggested. 'Or they spotted us with binoculars through the
windows.'
    'They sent Vonetta home,' he realized.
    'Let's hope that's all they did to her.'
    'Where's all the ice?'
    The thought of harm having come to his housekeeper cast an ashen
pallor over Dylan's face as the recognition of his own mortal
danger had not. 'But we only folded out of Holbrook half an hour
ago.'
    'So?'
    'We must have surprised the hell out of the guy in the motel
room, the one who saw us go.'
    'He probably needed clean underwear,' she agreed.
    'So how could they have even figured out what folding was in just half an hour, let alone alerted people here in
California?'
    'These guys didn't come here on an alert sent out half an hour
ago. They staked out this house when they didn't know where we
were, before the Arizona goons confirmed we were in Holbrook, hours
before they went into the motel after us.'
    'So they connected you to the Coupe DeVille and me to you last
night, pretty quick,' Dylan said. 'We've always been just a few
hours ahead of them.'
    'They didn't know we'd come back here soon or ever. They
were just here waiting, hoping.'
    'Nobody was running surveillance on the house this morning when
Shep and I folded onto that hilltop back there.'
    'They must've gotten here not long after that.'
    'Ice,' said Shep, 'ice, ice, ice, ice.'
    The guy on one knee in the shadows, the other guy half hidden by
the shrub, talking on their headsets, were probably not talking
just to each other, but were chatting with a cozy knitting circle
of like-minded assassins surrounding the house, exchanging tips on
weapons maintenance, garroting-wire techniques, and recipes for
nerve poison, while synchronizing their watches and coordinating
their murderous attack.
    Jilly could have tapped her veins for the ice Shep wanted. She
felt defenseless. She felt naked. Naked in the hands of fate.
    'Ice, ice, ice, ice, ice.'
    In her