A Song of Shadows by John Connolly Page A

through which he might escape. He could not show weakness, though. The drama would play out, and each would accept the role that had been given to him.
    ‘I haven’t finished my milk yet.’
    ‘You can take it with you.’
    ‘Nah, I think I’ll drink it here. Wouldn’t want it to spill.’
    ‘I’m going to be closing up around you,’ said Lenny. ‘You’ll have to excuse me.’
    He moved to take the drawer from the register. Usually he counted the takings before he left, but on this occasion he’d leave that until the morning. He didn’t want to give this man any cause to linger.
    ‘I’m no charity case,’ said the visitor. ‘I’ll pay my own way, just as I always have.’
    He reached into his jacket pocket.
    ‘Well, what do you think this is?’
    Despite himself, Lenny found himself looking to see what had drawn the man’s attention. He glimpsed something small and white, apparently drawn from the man’s own pocket.
    ‘Jesus, it’s a tooth.’ He pronounced it ‘toot’. He held the item in question up to the light, like a jeweler appraising a gemstone. ‘Now where do you suppose that came from? It sure ain’t one of mine.’
    As if to put the issue beyond doubt, he manipulated his upper row of teeth with his tongue, and his dentures popped out into his left palm. The action caused his mouth to collapse in upon itself, rendering his appearance stranger still. He smiled, nodded at Lenny, and replaced his appliance. He then laid the single tooth on the surface of the bar. A length of reddish flesh adhered to the root.
    ‘That’s certainly something, isn’t it?’ he said.
    Lenny backed off. He wondered if he could get away for long enough to call the cops. There was no gun on the premises, but the back office had a strong door and a good lock. He could seal himself inside and wait for the police to come. Even if he could make it to a phone, what would he tell the operator – that a man had produced a tooth for his inspection? Last he heard, that wasn’t a crime.
    Except, except …
    Like a conjuror, the customer reached into his pocket again and produced a second tooth, then a third. Finally, he seemed to tire of the whole business, rummaged for a final time, and scattered a full mouth’s worth of teeth on the bar. Some were without roots. At least one appeared to have broken during extraction. A lot of them were still stained with blood, or trailed tails of tissue.
    ‘Who are you?’ asked Lenny. ‘What do you want from me?’
    The gun appeared in the man’s hand. Lenny didn’t know from guns, but this one looked big and kind of old.
    ‘You stay where you are now,’ said the man. ‘You hear me?’
    Lenny nodded. He found his voice.
    ‘We got next to nothing in the register,’ he said. ‘It’s been quiet all day.’
    ‘I look like a thief to you?’
    He sounded genuinely offended.
    ‘I don’t know what you look like,’ said Lenny, and he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.
    ‘You got no manners,’ said the man. ‘You know that, you fucking kike?’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Lenny. He had no pride now, only fear.
    ‘I accept your apology. You know what this is?’
    He gave the weapon a little jerk.
    ‘No. I don’t know much about guns.’
    ‘There’s your first error. It’s not a gun, it’s a pistol : a Mauser C96 military pistol, made in long nine millimeter, which is rare. Some people call it a Broomhandle Mauser on account of the shape of the grip, or a Red 9 after the number carved into the grip. Consider that an education. Now move away from the door. You pay attention to me and what I say, and maybe this won’t go as bad for you as it might.’
    Lenny knew that wasn’t true – men who planned to let other men live didn’t point guns at them without first concealing their faces – yet he found himself obeying. The man reached into his pocket again. This time his hand emerged holding a pair of cuffs. He tossed them to Lenny and instructed him to