"Ain't nobody mastermind shit" the prisoner shouted back. "The mufuh doors opened."

Even by Miami standards, this was considered a major screwup. Under intense pressure from the media, Penultimate explained, through its dense firewall of high-priced attorneys, that all the blame belonged to… subcontractors. The politicians, who did not want Penultimate to get into trouble, inasmuch as almost all of them had received money from the company, pounced on this explanation like wild dogs on a pork chop: Yes! That was it! Subcontractors were responsible!

Unfortunately for the cause of justice, most of the key subcontractors involved either fled the country or died, generally in boating accidents. Eventually, the investigation lost steam, and the issue degenerated into a vast steaming bog of lawsuits and counter-lawsuits that would not be settled within the current geological era. Everybody lost interest, and Penultimate went back to winning contracts.

One of these was for a six-story downtown parking garage that wound up costing, what with one thing and another, just under four times the original contract figure. Each price increase was approved with virtually no discussion by key political leaders, who were invited to make speeches at the garage dedication ceremony, which fortunately was held outside the structure, which is why only two people were injured when the entire central portion of the structure collapsed during the opening prayer.

Once again there was outrage; once again there were statements and hearings; once again the finger of blame ultimately wound up being pointed at — it is so hard to get good help — those darned subcontractors. Who of course by that point were disappearing faster than weekend houseguests in an Agatha Christie story. And Penultimate continued to prosper and grow and benefit from its reputation as a company that only a fool would mess with.

As it happened, Arthur Herk, in addition to being an abusive alcoholic, was a fool. To pay off a gambling debt, he had embezzled $55,000 from Penultimate. Unbeknownst to him, his bosses, experts in the field of dishonesty and far smarter than Arthur, had discovered the theft almost immediately. They viewed embezzlement as a fairly serious violation of corporate policy, punishable by death.

And so Penultimate had hired two specialized subcontractors, Henry and Leonard, the men waiting in the humid darkness outside the sliding-glass door to the Herk family room. In whispered voices, they were discussing scheduling.

"We shoot him now," Leonard was saying, "we make the eleven-forty flight to Newark."

"I can't shoot him now," Henry said. "He's too close to the women." Henry was the man with the rifle; Leonard's main jobs were to drive and keep Henry company.

"You don't shoot him soon," Leonard said, "I'm dead, from these fucking mosquitoes." He slapped one on his wrist, leaving a quarter-sized blot of blood and bug parts. "Look at this thing," he said. "He's the size of that fucking dog."

"She," said Henry, continuing to watch the Herk family through the window.

"She?" asked Leonard. "She what?"

"The mosquito," said Henry. "It's a she."

Leonard looked closely at the blot on his wrist, then back at Henry. "How fiiefuck can you tell that?" he asked.

"This show on the Discovery Channel," explained Henry. "They said only the female mosquito sucks your blood."

Leonard looked at the blot again. He said, "Bitch."

"What they didn't explain," said Henry, "is what do the male mosquitoes eat?"

"What, are you worried about them?"

"No, I'm not worried about them. I'm just…»

"You want I should go get a fucking pizza for them, set it out here in the jungle so they don't starve?"

"I'm just saying, what do they eat? If they don't suck blood? Is all I'm saying."

"Maybe they suck each other," said Leonard.

Henry had to smile at that, which only encouraged Leonard.

"Oh, Bruth!" Leonard said in a lisping mosquito whisper. "YouhaveaBIGthtinger!"

Henry was quietly quaking with laughter now; his rifle barrel vibrated in the gloom.

Inside the family room, Arthur Herk was methodically, relentlessly changing channels. He was doing this partly because the instinct to change channels is embedded deep in the male genetic code, and partly because he knew his wife and stepdaughter hated it. For a few minutes, Anna and Jenny stared at the flashing jumble of images, expressionless, not wanting to give Herk any satisfaction. Finally, Jenny sighed and stood. Addressing Anna, she said, "I'm gonna go to my room, where it's not so, I don't know… stupid. Good night, Mom."

Herk kept changing channels.

Anna said, "I think I'll let Roger in and go to bed, too."

Herk stopped changing channels and looked at her. She recognized the look. She hoped he'd pass out in the family room tonight. She hoped he would not make it to the bedroom. She rose from the sofa.

Outside, Henry whispered, "They're leaving."

"They're leaving," whispered Matt. He and Andrew, having received a warm but brief welcome from Roger, had moved to an observation point next to a large potted plant at the edge of the patio, about thirty feet from Henry and Leonard.

"Whadda we do?" asked Andrew.

"I think she's gonna let the dog in," said Matt. "When she opens the door, we run up, and I shoot her, and you witness it."

"I'm gonna witness it from here," said Andrew, "in case her father shoots us."

"With what?" said Matt. "The remote control? You gotta come with me so Jenny sees that you witnessed it."

"He has a gun somewhere," Andrew said. "This is Miami."

Matt could not argue with that. Sounding braver than he felt, he whispered, "Come on," and started across the patio toward the sliding-glass door. Andrew followed, reluctantly, a few feet behind.

Henry and Leonard did not see the boys immediately; they were both intently watching Anna Herk as she moved toward the door from the other side.

"Fine-looking woman," Leonard observed.

"Shut up," Henry observed. He raised his rifle and trained the sight on Arthur Herk, thinking about how he was going to do this. If Herk stayed in the room, sitting in front of the TV, it would be easy. But Henry had to be ready in case Herk got up and followed the women out. Henry didn't want to shoot with the women still in the room, but he would if he had to.

Anna Herk reached the patio door, unlatched it, slid it open, and called, "Roger, c'mon, boy." At this point, a number of things happened in extremely quick succession:

 —  Roger, calculating with his nine functioning brain cells that the chances were better of getting food inside the house with the humans than outside with the Enemy Toad, left his surveillance post and shot, a low-flying, furry missile, through the door opening into the family room.

 —  Right behind him came Matt, rushing toward the opening, holding his realistic SquirtMaster Model 9000. He had planned to yell, "HEY, JENNY!" but he was very nervous, so it came out more like, "HENNY!"

 —  Anna, seeing a shape rushing out of the night toward her yelling unintelligibly, screamed.

 —  Two steps behind, Jenny, hearing her mom scream, then seeing the shape, screamed.

 —  Arthur Herk, hearing both women screaming, dropped the remote control. Roger immediately went over to see if it was food.

 —  Outside in the gloom, Leonard said, "What the fuck?"

 —  In about the same time that it took for Leonard to come to that conclusion, Henry, who had a gift for processing information and making decisions very rapidly, which is why he was the one with the rifle, decided that, whatever this other shooter was there to do, he, Henry, was there to shoot Arthur Herk, and he had better do it right now.