Lusk's infiltration and ambush was a roaring success. Steve's posture when he entered the room and wheeled round to lock the door behind him was quite causally drunk. He slapped the chain into place and slowed his own possible escape then—he really anticipated nothing.

Bogdan Lusk raised himself from where he'd crouched between the beds, and leaned against the wall, a silent bet on his lips that it would take a few seconds for the imbecile to notice him. Steve turned to face the room and stood staring at the darkness before jumping back to slam into the door, slapping at the light, breathing in gasps. When that single yellow-white light came on Steve's eyes locked onto the silenced pistol aimed at his gut and balled fists fall to his side.

Steve's care-worn eyelids slammed shut—face more lined than ever—but Bogdan merely leant against between twin beds and waited until they drifted open again.

"Been out closing accounts?" Lusk said once the whites of his eyes were visible in a thin line. "You seem to be inching towards being an invisible man. Or was it just poker night?"

"No," muttered Steve.

"Even since your stash got raided? Didn't tell us about all that before did you? The coke?" Steve shut his eyes again, his breathing sped up when Bogdan hissed, "That's a liability!—one we had to read about in the newspaper! The fucking newspaper paper," the words lowered to a growl.

Steve cringed, and said, "No one...!"

"Selling artefacts is one thing," Bogdan cut in, "Difficult to prove you were involved and happens infrequently enough to make it a good bet. But actually keeping such things in the museum—coke, really? Is a different matter entirely. I do not take such news lightly."

Steve was still staring at the gun, and muttered again, "I was only holing them! Wasn't supposed to be that long... But the guy I was doing it for went to jail... Didn't know what to do... Come on, right? You get that? Ask Nathan Brant! He knows how it is... No need for a gun between us. I swear they were only supposed to be for a week but then..."

"I'd offer to put the gun away," continued Bogdan, ignoring Steve's words, "But frankly I don't like vagueness in my professional interpersonal's."

"Hey, I've got the things here..." said Steve. "The things. You can put it away. I did my part." He lifted a canvas bag from a cheap chain of shops. "We can go our separate ways now."

Bogdan peeled himself from the wall, carefully crept up to Steve, and snatched it from his hands. Let it hang open and peered inside only long enough for a basic glance at the objects—a purple hairbrush utterly clotted with red-brown, and a belt with a broken key holder. Several little black-blue fibers had been taped to its side.

"You're certain these came from your two problems?"

"Fully—no doubt at all."

"Tell me what they look like."

"Why?"

"I wanna know."

"The main one's a girl—an intern actually—quite a small thing. Half Swiss and half Italian—she's the one with the chestnut hair. She's got a lot of freckles."

"And the other?" cut in Lusk.

"He's big, over six feet, muscly and has black hair with green eyes."

"What kind of cars do they drive?"

"I've never seen the girl drive one, but I know the guy's got a shitty light-blue Kia."

"Fine."

"Are we done?" said Steve. He was staring at a cluster of old cigarette burns on the carpet—pressing himself against the smoke-stained door again. Trying to make as much space between himself and the gun as possible.

"Nope."

Steve's eyes clamped shut. Expecting a shot.

"Here." Bogdan lifted a brown-leather valise that sat next to his feet. He put it in the middle of the floor and returned to his wall. "I'd leave it on the bed, but I'm scared the beg bugs'll get at it."

"Is that...?"

"Bones. All of them. Don't open it—every single one needs to be in there just the way it is now. Don't want any accidents—it's essential—don't try and understand why. Just obey. All you gotta do is put the bones in some hidden spot in the museum. Tonight. Where they won't be found for at least three days. Later doesn't matter—the bones can sit their 'till judgment day for all Mr. Thwaite cares or can be found after exactly seventy-three hours. But for seventy-two of those they must be undisturbed.

"My usual spot's compromised..."

"Someplace else then," hissed Bogdan. "You must know of some other hidey-holes. You're no good to us otherwise..."

"I do," coughed Steve through shut teeth. "But I couldn't get in just now though. Camera's... The security guard... Wait 'till tomorrow. Easier."

"How'd you slip in to get these?" said Bogdan. He raised the canvas bag.

"Security is understaffed during the day now... Had someone who's in my corner text me when the cameras weren't being watched and everyone was occupied with a meeting and I just walked in through the back and did what Thwaite asked. Took ten minutes. No one saw me."

"Now wait a minute," Bogdan smiled as he said it. "I seem to recall being told someone likes bragging that they had ways into the museum in some shithole pub..."

"I need Alan for that!"

"That?"

"There's a way, aye," mumbled Steve. "But I can't do it myself. It's too tight for me... Have to wail 'till tomorrow... I can pull that same trick as today I think..."

"It needs to be tonight!" snapped Bogdan. "Before midnight. Three days is important to my boss. What exactly do you mean?"

Steve exhaled, "This is a valuable secret you know..."

"Thwaite will pay."

"Hidden among the trees on the museum's hill," said Steve, almost all at once. "East Face. Beneath a bush. There's a hatch. It leads to a hole that leads to a secret passage into the museum. Into the fourth basement."

"Sounds perfect—use it!"

"It's too tight for me!"

Bogdan grinned, and said with a chuckle, "We'll see... Come on! You and I are going for a drive."

"This has to be the last thing!" snapped Steve. "I won't do anything else. This is too much for me already. It has to end—I'm done there—at the museum. Gotta skip town now."

"Will you sell me your keys?" rapped Bogdan, unabashed.

"Five thousand," hissed Steve. A fist clenched in his pocket, and Bogdan realized he had them right there.

"Fine. I'll take you round to Thwaite for your final payday from us after it's done and you may go in peace, my son."

"Good," said Steve.

-------------------------

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