When some guy has a gun and I don't, and he asks me for one good reason why he shouldn't kill me, I assume that he has no intention of blowing my head off because otherwise he would just do it.  He either wants a reason to stand down or he's so sadly unimaginative that he's playing the scene the way he's watched it unfold on TV and in movies.

Old Green Eyes, however, seemed like a different caliber of thug to me.  His demeanor suggested that he didn't need a reason to kill someone, only a strong desire, and his appearance argued that he was imaginative enough to think of a score of bloody ways to end this.

I was acutely aware of how far away the stables were from any inhabited buildings in Roseland.

Hoping there was nothing he would find incendiary in these nine words, I said, "Well, sir, I'm an invited guest, not a trespasser."

His expression was not that of a man convinced  "Invited guest?  Since when do they let candy-ass, punk boys through the gate?"

I decided not to be offended by his unkind characterization of me.  "I'm staying in the tower in the eucalyptus grove.  Been there three nights, two days."

He pressed the muzzle of the Uzi into my chest.  "Three days and nobody told me?  You think I'm dumb enough to eat crap on toast?"

"No, sir.  Not on toast."

His nostrils flared so wide that I feared his brain might fall out through one nostril or the other.

"What's that mean, candy-ass?"

"It means you're way smarter than me, or otherwise I wouldn't be on this end of the gun.  But it's true.  I've been here almost three days.  Of course, it wasn't my charm that got us invited, it was the girl I'm with.  Nobody can say no to her."

I believed that I saw a sudden sympathy in his expression at the mention of a girl.  Maybe he thought that I meant a child.  Even some of the most hard-case violence junkies can have a soft spot for children.

"Now that makes sense," he said.  "You bring in some super-hot piece of tail, and nobody wants Kenny to know about her."