Five
Freeze was the right word. He had called me Milo. I didn’t know whether that meant he knew I was Milo March or he was merely using the last name of John Milo. But there weren’t any questions about what was poking in my back. I’d had too many guns shoved against me not to know one when I felt it.
“Now,” he said, “move your left hand very carefully and turn on the lights. Then put both hands on top of your head.”
I did as he told me.
He quickly patted me on both sides. “Careless of you,” he said, “not to carry a piece. But that’s a nice little g*n you had in the drawer. How come a law-abiding citizen is keeping a g*n like that?”
“I’m a g*n-collector,” I said evenly.
He laughed. “Me, too. Only I’ve got the g*n now. Somebody told me you’re carrying a lot of green stuff around with y
