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That could be pretty grim for her. Koontz took another look around the back of the booth toward the bar. Then he turned back, hunched forward, and lowered his voice to a hoarse, confidential whisper.Well, Ive been talking to some of the guys and were gonna have a meeting tonight. No. But suppose it wasnt a trap? Suppose she doesnt know, and… Well, I didnt go through everything that was there. I was excited and … well, that was it, I was excited. Come now, youre not the police department; you said so yourself just the other day. You have no legal basis for confiscating her funds, and she wants them back. Ed, dont shoot some citizen whos just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Della Street arose from her desk, walked rapidly through, the door to the law library and on to Jacksons office beyond. A few moments later she came back with the blinking, beetle-browed Jackson a few steps behind her, peering owlishly through his thick-lensed glasses. Devine yawned and drank down another cup of coffee. He was in his room on his bed. He had downloaded the video images hed taken of Area 51 from his phone onto his laptop and had gone through pretty much all of them. He next looked at the feed on his phone from the camera he had planted. Area 51 was still roaring along. He could clearly make out some of the screens from the surveillance camera hed planted. Fair enough, she said. A ton of them. And at some point, theyll come back to bury me. They believe they knowyou that well. Im not positive, but my chief of staff may have ordered the Secret Service to shoot you on sight. They had been pretty good sacks at one time, the money sacks that a bank uses for currency. Theyd been sewn up and then ripped open along the sides. That is, theyd been cut open. And there was a box of old junk. There was scrap iron on the bottom. Stone reached for the TV remote control, but Dino held up a hand.Dont please; Ive already seen it, and you can wait until tomorrow morning. Confidential, sorry. I am not creepy, Im an attorney-at-law. This was ONeill turf, the land of lost souls. Every face in the place hinted at a story that would either break your heart or scare the shit out of you or both. Old, young, working class or homeless-looking needed — at a minimum — dentists, barbers and social workers. We used to put the Council newspaper out once every month, right? Yeah, Dino said. I think about half of the guys in the Russian mafia carry a card with your photograph on it, just in case they spot you somewhere and get a shot at you...