He had a messenger bag over his shoulder as well this time, and he walked straight past me to the wood-and-cinder block shelf to start filling it with all manner of things: nylon rope, zip-ties, boxes of ammo, blocks of something gray and clay-like that I really hoped wasn’t C4. Not that I’d say anything if it was. This job had jumped the shark on danger ages ago. If he wanted to bring explosives, the only thing I wanted to know was when to duck and cover.
