“Where the fuck is Hobart?” he said.

They found the house. A small story-and-a-half with white siding. Dwayne wheeled the truck into the driveway behind a Chrysler minivan.

“See?” Dwayne said. “The guy’s smart, doesn’t attract attention. He could afford a goddamn Porsche but then the neighbors are going to say, hey, where’s he get off driving a car like that? And he could live in a bigger house than this, right? But again, he knows how to keep a low profile.”

“What’s the point getting rich if you have to live the way you’ve always lived?” Jan asked.

Dwayne shook his head, like the question was too deep. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s got another place. In the Bahamas or something.”

Dwayne had his hand on the door. Half the diamonds were still tucked into his jeans, while Jan had her share in her purse.

“He said come in around the back,” Dwayne said, nodding toward the end of the drive, which ran down the side of the house.

“You’re not worried, us walking in here with everything we’ve got?” Jan asked. “What if he decides to take the diamonds off us? What are we supposed to do then?”

“Hey, he’s a businessman,” Dwayne said. “You think he’s going to throw away his reputation, fucking over a client like that?”

Jan wasn’t convinced.

“Okay, if you’re worried…” Dwayne reached under the seat and pulled out a small, short-barreled revolver.

“Jesus,” Jan said. “How long you had that?”

“Pretty much since I got out,” he said. “Got it from my brother when he let me have the truck.”

One more thing that could have sunk us if we’d gotten pulled over, Jan thought. But knowing they had a weapon did offer some comfort.

He reached into the small storage area behind the seats and grabbed a jean jacket. Awkwardly, he slipped it on while still behind the wheel, then tucked the gun into the right pocket. “Don’t want to walk in waving the thing. But you’re right, it’s good to have it along. Okay, let’s go get rich.”

They got out of the truck and walked up the drive past the minivan. Dwayne turned at the back of the house, found a ground-level wood door with a peephole, and pressed a tiny round white button to the left of it. They didn’t hear the buzz inside through the thick door, but seconds later there was the sound of a substantial deadbolt being turned back.

A tall, wiry man with very dark brown skin opened the door. His T-shirt was several sizes too large, and a rope belt cinched around his waist kept his baggy cargo pants up. He smiled, exposing two rows of yellowed teeth. “You are Dwayne,” he said.

Great, Jan thought. Real names.

“Banura,” Dwayne said, shaking hands. He went to introduce Jan. “This is… Kate?”

She smiled nervously. She couldn’t be Jan. And she couldn’t be Connie. So Kate it was. “Hi.”

Banura extended a hand to her and drew them both into the house. Inside the door was a narrow flight of stairs heading down. There was no access, at least from the back door, to any other part of the house. Once inside, they watched as Banura returned to position a massive bar that spanned the width of the door. He led them down the stairs, hitting a couple of light switches on the way.

The stairway wall was lined with cheaply framed photos-some in color and some, mercifully, in black and white. Most of them were of young black men, some just children, barefoot and dressed in tattered clothes, photographed against bleak African landscapes of ruin and poverty. They were wielding rifles, raising hands together in victory, mugging for the camera. In several, the men posed over bloody corpses. One that made Jan look away showed a black child, probably no more than twelve, waving a severed arm as though it were a baseball bat.

Banura took them into a crowded room with a long, brilliantly lit workbench. Spread out on the bench was a black velvet runner, and over it three different magnifiers on metal arms.

“Have a seat,” Banura said in his thick African accent, gesturing to a ratty couch that was half-covered in boxes and two IKEA-type office chairs that probably cost five bucks new.

“Sure,” Dwayne said, dropping onto a narrow spot on the couch.

“You won’t be needing your gun,” Banura said, his back to Dwayne as he sat on the stool at the workbench.

“What’s that?”

“The one in your right pocket,” he said. “I’m not going to take anything from you. And you are not going to take anything from me. That would be totally foolish.”

“Hey, sure, I get that,” Dwayne said, laughing nervously. “I just like to be cautious, you know?”

Banura pulled his magnifiers into position, flicked another switch. They had lights built in to them.

“Let me see what you have,” he said.

Jan, who had chosen not to sit, reached into her purse and withdrew her bag. Dwayne leaned back on the couch to make it easier to reach into his pants and fished out his half. He tossed the bag over to Jan, like having a bag of diamonds was no biggie, and she presented both of them to Banura.

Delicately, he opened both bags and emptied them onto the black velvet. He examined no more than half a dozen of the stones, putting each one under bright light and magnification.

“So, you know this stuff pretty good, huh?” Dwayne said.

“Yes,” Banura said.

“So whaddya think?”

“Just a moment, please.”

“Dwayne, let the man do his job,” Jan said.

Dwayne made a face.

Once he’d finished looking at the half dozen stones, Banura slowly turned on his stool and said to them, “These are very good.”

“Well, yeah,” said Dwayne.

“Where did you get these?” he asked. “I’m just curious.”

“Come on, Banny Boy, we went through this before. I’m not telling you that.”

Banura nodded. “That’s fine, then. Sometimes it is better not to know. What counts is the quality of the merchandise. And this is superb. And you have a lot of it.”

“So, what do you think it’s worth?” Jan asked.

Banura turned his head and studied her. “I am prepared to offer you six.”

Jan blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Million?” Dwayne said, sitting up at attention.

Banura nodded solemnly. “I think that’s more than generous.”

Jan had never expected to be offered anything remotely close to six million dollars. She thought maybe two or three million, but this, this was unbelievable.

Dwayne stood, struggled not to look excited. “You’ll never guess what my lucky number happens to be.” He slapped his own ass where he’d been tattooed. “Well, you know, I think that’s a figure that my partner and I can work with. But we’ll need to talk about it.”

“We’ll take it,” Jan said.

Banura nodded again, then turned back to his table. He began selecting more of the diamonds at random for study. “The quality is consistent,” he said.

“Fuckin’ A,” Dwayne said. “So, where’s the money?”

Banura frowned without taking his eyes off the jewels. “I don’t keep funds of that nature around here,” he said. “I will have to make some arrangements. You may take your product with you, and later this afternoon we can make an exchange.”

“Here?” Dwayne said. “We come back here?”

“Yes,” Banura said. “And I should tell you, that for a transaction of this size, I will have an associate present, and you will not be permitted to enter my premises with that gun on you.”

“No problem, no problem,” Dwayne said. “We want to do everything straight up.”

Banura glanced at his watch. It looked, to Jan, like a cheap Timex. “Come back at two,” he said.

Dwayne said, “So it’ll be cash, right? I don’t want a check.”

Banura sighed.

“I’m sorry,” Jan said. “We’re just… a little excited, to be honest.”

“Of course,” Banura said. “You have plans?”

“Yes,” Jan said, without elaborating.

“Oh yeah,” Dwayne said.

Banura gathered the jewels and returned them all to one bag, since they fit easily enough. “That’s okay?” he asked.