Nick nudged Lizard Boots in the hip with his foot. “Hey, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal. We’re all friends here. Go ahead and confess to Uncle Nick and Detective Pain-in-the-Ass why you shot up my goddamn yard.” Both shooters looked at him, their faces going carefully blank. “What are you saying?” Weber demanded several decibels louder than necessary. “None of us like your suit,” Nick quipped, tightening the zip ties on a very unhappy-looking Night Prowler.
