UnravellingThey dumped him on a hard-backed chair, without ceremony, careless of his cries, and shone a light in his face. He turned away and someone gripped him by the cheeks, forcing him to face the front again. Squinting through the glare, he could make out three figures. Two gorillas flanked the girl, the gun in her slim fingers. He could barely see her features as the light obscured the details, but he could smell her perfume, see the glint of the gun. His gun. The Colt. A Colt had killed Miller. But not his. How many other people owned such a gun?
“If what you say is true, Bremen, that means you don't work for Frement.”
“That's it. Bull's-eye.”
“But there's the sticking point, you see, because that would make you kind of special. Unique.”
“I've often believed I was out of the ord
