Hickey saw the half-buried, half dug-out truck and the deep tracks heading into the trees before Larry. He grabbed his arm and pointed down. Larry nodded, turning the chopper toward the clear space beyond. The whirling blades blew the snow in all directions as they landed. This time, Hickey took the Uzi with him, though he concealed it inside his coat, which he left hanging open, as they trotted toward the truck. The wind from the spinning blades whipped up the snow but not enough they couldn’t see that someone had tried to dig the truck out, then given up. The chopper blurred the ski tracks, but it didn’t matter, since the tracks couldn’t tell them who had made them.
They cautiously approached the front door. Two sets of tracks didn’t mean someone hadn’t been left behind. Hickey took up
