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John Austin, cradling his right arm, dropped back on the edge of the bed nearly five minutes later, and said, “Okay, Payne, where you want me to start?”

“How about the beginning?” Payne said.

“Then that’d be right after we had lunch. Me and Kenny were going to run errands while Camilla Rose went to the spa for a facial. We had just got the truck from the valet when she came running out of the hotel. I’d forgotten the cash.”

“What cash?” Payne said.

“For the vendors. They were due their advance payments and they like cash.” He chuckled. “Don’t we all?”

“How much?”

“Does it matter? Is it illegal to pay people with cash anymore?”

Payne didn’t respond immediately.

He met his eyes, and he said, “Depends, of course, on what you’re buying.”

Austin held his stare a long time, then said, “I think it was in the neighborhood of fifteen, maybe twenty grand. We were only paying two vendors, I think. Camilla Rose decided how much they got. I didn’t have a chance to count it or even look inside, thanks to some asshole with a shotgun.”

“Who were the vendors?” Harris said, looking up from his notes. “What service do they provide?”

“Hell if I know. I was just supposed to deliver the money, get a receipt, then get on with the day.”

“Deliver the money where?”

“She said the addresses were on the individual envelopes.”

“All right,” Payne said. “So you came out of the hotel, then what?”

“I gave the valet the ticket for the Escalade.” He shook his head. “Damn thing was brand-new. Didn’t have fifty miles on it yet.”

“Shame. Nice vehicle,” Payne said. He was quiet a moment, then added, “Will your insurance cover the damage?”

“Not mine. It’s registered in Camilla Rose’s name. She bought it to give me . . . for my birthday, next week.”

“That’s very generous.”

“What can I say, Payne?”

“If the Escalade’s, basically, yours,” Harris put in, “any reason Mr. Benson was driving it?”

Austin exhaled.

“Easy. He didn’t drink near as much the night before. My head was hurting, so I asked Kenny if he’d drive.” Watching Harris note that, he went on. “Then, just as we were pulling away, Camilla Rose ran out with that envelope of cash. And then we took off. I was looking down, stuffing the envelope in my sweater, when Kenny said, ‘What the fuck?’

“I looked up in time to see, just as we about got to the street, that damn van squealing to a stop in front of us. Kenny nailed the brakes and the horn at the same time.”

“That was the first you’d seen it?”

“The van? Yeah. And then the first I’d seen that chrome door open and then the shotgun barrel poke out the side. I didn’t realize that that was what it was until a split second before the damn thing went off.”

Harris made a note, then asked, “What did you do?”

“What the hell would anybody do? I fucking ducked! Kenny did, too. But he couldn’t get to the floorboard like me.”

“Did he get hit?”

“Not then. The guy missed. It was un-fucking-believable. Someone—Joy, I think—when Camilla Rose had her come here, said most of that round hit a Bentley parked behind us. But that’s where our luck ran out.”