Chapter 92

“Well, you don’t have a pocket. Here, use mine.” He handed me the really elegant pocketknife that I’d first seen in that warehouse in Paris. The handle looked like it might be ivory, and the filigree work on it could be gold. Well, it was a yellow metal, and I didn’t see it as being something as cheap as gold plate.

I finally got the box opened to find a case made of teak. I took it out and ran my fingers over the smooth wood. A latch held it closed. I flipped it up and raised the lid.

“Fuck me!” Inside was a Llama Mini-max .45 subcompact. Quinn had a clutch piece like this one; I’d seen it when I’d rescued him in Paris. Each clip held ten rounds, and it carried one up the pipe. I stroked the barrel. “Quinn….”

“There are four clips in the case and a custom-made ankle holster as well.”

I didn’t know what to say. “This is…. Thank you.”

“You really like it?”

“Are you kidding? When I saw yours in Paris, I was tempted to tell you I couldn’t find it and keep it for my own.”