The Night Crew

personal effects— nothing feminine—and only the most basic shaving and washing supplies.
    They found nothing of special interest—no paper. The house was eerily devoid of records of any kind. ‘‘He doesn’t do business here,’’ Harper said.
    ‘‘I don’t think he really lives here,’’ Anna agreed. ‘‘He must have a place somewhere else—this is like a motel room. You notice in the bathroom, his shaving stuff is still in a Dopp kit.’’
    ‘‘Yeah . . .’’
    Harper glanced at his watch: ‘‘Let’s go.’’
    ‘‘We’re done?’’
    ‘‘Not exactly.’’
    He led the way downstairs, looked around once more, then pulled her into a book-lined office. All the books were in sets: none of them, as far as Anna could tell, had been opened. Harper started pulling them off the shelves, letting them drop to the floor. He did it almost idly.
    ‘‘Jake?’’ Anna asked. ‘‘What’re we doing?’’
    ‘‘Waiting,’’ he said. ‘‘Tony ought to be here any minute.’’
    ‘‘What?’’ She turned and looked out of the library; the front door was out of sight, but it was right around the corner.
    ‘‘We’ll hear the car,’’ he said. ‘‘He’ll either put it in the garage and come in through the kitchen, or he’ll leave it in the drive and come through the front door.’’
    Anna was confused. ‘‘What? We’re gonna jump him?’’
    ‘‘More or less,’’ Harper said. He pushed a few more books on the floor. One of them was a fake: the cover fell open to reveal a hollowed-out interior packed with money. Harper turned and gazed at her for a moment, weighing her, and then said, ‘‘That’s why we’re here.’’ She thought she could talk him out of it: ‘‘Jake, we can’t do this—too much could go wrong. Somebody could get hurt, bad.’’
    But he wouldn’t move. ‘‘I’ve done stuff like this two hundred times. Tony oughta be paranoid enough that . . .’’ And then they felt, rather than heard, arrival sounds from outside. Harper said, ‘‘Quiet now . . . just stick with this.’’
    He dropped to his hands and knees and crab-walked into the front room. From her angle in the office, she could see him easing up to a crack in the drapes.
    Five seconds later he was back: ‘‘Shit. He’s with somebody. Another guy. Stay with me, Anna.’’
    ‘‘Aw . . .’’ She was trapped: a bad idea that she’d ridden too far, and now it was too late to get out. So she crouched, tense, and Harper pulled the nylon over his face, and waved a hand at her, and she pulled hers down. Then Harper took the gun out of his pocket and they waited. Tony came through the door and he was shouting when he came through: ‘‘You don’t tell me that shit, you don’t tell me, you just fuckin’ well better . . .’’ He was a short, paunchy man in his late thirties, wearing a gray dress suit, a striped tie over a blue silk shirt; the man with him was tall, thin, with a mustache, a deep tan and a black leather briefcase; in good shape, like a serious tennis player. When Harper, with the mask and gun, stepped out of the office, his double-take spun Tony around in midsentence.
    ‘‘If either one of you fuckin’ move, I’m gonna blow your fuckin’ heart right through your fuckin’ spine,’’ Harper growled. His gun, held in both hands, was pointed at Tony’s chest. ‘‘Lay down on the floor, on your backs, heads toward each other, top of your head toward the top of his head, arms stretched out so they overlap.’’
    ‘‘What the fuck . . .’’
    ‘‘LAY ON THE FUCKIN’ FLOOR,’’ Harper screamed, and the pistol began to shake and jerk, and Anna could see him chewing on the nylon mask; if he was acting, he was terrific. If he wasn’t, he was crazy. ‘‘LAY DOWN, YOU MOTHERFUCKERS, OR I’LL . . .’’ Saliva and anger seemed to choke him and he gnashed at the nylon, and suddenly his teeth broke through and he ran three steps toward Tony, the gun poking out at Tony’s forehead, and Tony screamed back, ‘‘No, no, no . . .’’ and the two men got shakily down on the floor, lying on their backs, arms stretched over their heads.
    Harper, gun fixed on Tony’s head, fished a pair of open handcuffs out of his pocket and dropped them on Tony’s face. ‘‘Put them on. I want to hear them snap shut.’’ Tony put them on. The tall man was next: ‘‘Thread ’em through Tony’s, then snap ’em.’’
    ‘‘I’m just a lawyer . . .’’
    ‘‘Yeah,