There was the sound of something heavy slumping to the ground outside, then a distinct knock. One sharp rap, followed by three knocks. The agents relaxed, dropped their weapons.
The older guy approached the door, gun held out. “What waits at the center of the Labyrinth?”
A voice from outside. “He who shall not be named.”
“Riddles!” Tony grinned. “Hey, is this a private conversation, or can anybody get involved? Cause I got a riddle for you. What’s gonna happen to you fucks when I get loose? Anybody want to answer that fucking riddle?”
They ignored him. The older guy opened the front door and another similarly dressed agent entered the condo, hauling a maintenance worker inside. The door closed behind him. The newcomer dropped the unconscious maintenance worker to the floor and stood over him. “We almost had trouble.” He held up a handgun, a Desert Eagle with a silencer. Tony had owned a weapon like that before, in his old life. Nice handgun.
The older guy nodded down at the maintenance worker. “Is he clean otherwise?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you bring beer?” Tony nodded at the newcomer. “Because I don’t think I’m gonna have enough for everybody.”
The agents glanced at each other. The newcomer frowned.
“Has he been like this all along?”
“Yes,” the woman said. “He hides his fear and uncertainty beneath a veneer of sarcasm and bravado.”
“What can I say, sweetheart. I grew up on Han Solo, avid Lee Roth, and Smokey and the fucking Bandit.” He turned to the newcomer. “What the fuck you bop the maintenance guy for? The man can’t even make a living painting the trim at this place without you guys knocking him out. What, you guys ATF or something? Some shit like that? Is that why you burst in here like this? Cause I got weapons? Makes no sense, but you’re too dumb to be anything else.”
“You know very well we’re not ATF,” the older man said.
“I don’t know shit.” Tony nodded at the maintenance worker. “If I was working this shitty job I’d carry a piece too. Never know what kind of shit bag’s gonna rob you of your week’s pay.”
Groaning, the man on the floor stirred. When he tried to sit up, his captor placed a foot on his chest and shoved him back to the carpet.
“Get off me!”
“You tell them, brother,” Tony cheered. “Don’t let these fuckers push you around. I’ve got them right where I want them.”
Without speaking, two of the intruders picked the maintenance worker up from the floor and forced him to sit in a chair across from Tony. Two kept their weapons pointed at him while the woman tied him up. The maintenance worker struggled, but Tony got the impression that the man was doing it to size up his opponents—probe their strengths and weaknesses—rather than to escape.
“So what’s next?” Tony asked. “We gonna play Uno or Monopoly or something? Or wait. I got it! You fuckers are into that role-playing shit, aren’t you? Roll D20 and determine how many times you suck my dick.”
Tony kept the banter up, but as he spoke, he eyed the maintenance worker intensely. The guy was no mere wrench monkey or lawn jockey. Tony recognized a kind of hardness in the captive’s expression. It was mirrored in Tony’s own. This guy was not who he claimed to be, and Tony was almost certain that he had killed before.
Baby-face grabbed a kitchen chair and slid it across the floor. Then he sat down, his face inches from Tony’s.
“Are you finished?” he asked. His voice was quiet. Calm. Almost bemused.
“I don’t know,” Tony admitted. “You tell me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you guys here to whack me? Because if so, I wish you’d get the fuck on with it.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Genova. We’re not here to kill you. We’re here because we need your help. We want to offer you a job.”
Tony blinked. “Is that so? Well, you sure have a funny way of asking for help. You always assault and tie up your job applicants?”
Baby-face’s expression became sad. “I apologize for that. It was a necessary precaution. We had to take certain measures to make sure you were protected.”
“Protected from what?”
“From us. Had you been tempted to use your firearm, or attack us in some other manner, we’d have had no choice but to defend ourselves. That could have ended badly—for all concerned. Believe me when I tell you that we don’t want to kill you, Mr. Genova. Indeed, you are one of the seven most important people in the world.”
“My mama always told me I was special.”