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KEVIN DOYLE FELT like he was wandering the streets of Manhattan aimlessly. In truth, he knew exactly where he was going. He’d been there half a dozen times in the past. It was just that Tammy’s plea for him to murder her uncle had thrown him for such a loop, he was in a fog. Sure, it was his job. But he’d never had anyone ask him to do it as a favor. And he’d never had anyone not already in the know just figure out exactly what he did. It made him question whether he was getting sloppy.

Doyle had considered Tammy’s unusual request, but only for a few seconds. He realized that the pretty triathlete probably wouldn’t have given him the time of day if she didn’t think she could get something from him. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. There was a moment, just a moment, after she’d asked him to meet her in the park when he’d envisioned a life with her. What would it be like to live somewhere warm and comfortable? He could move to Florida, like his parents. He liked the sunshine. No one would notice another New Yorker crossing the border down I-95. And he appreciated the fact that he could blend into a big and diverse state like Florida.

All that was over now. He was back to business. That’s why he walked through the doors of a particular camera shop among the scores of camera and electronics stores along the streets of touristy Manhattan.

As soon as he walked through the door and stood there for a moment, the skinny teenager who’d been sitting on a stool reading a graphic novel sprang up and ducked into the back room. A few seconds later, Doyle saw Ari Shaver stick his head out from behind the door. A smile spread across his face, and he beckoned Doyle into the back with a quick flick of his hand.

Doyle followed him through a cluttered office, then through a second, more secure door into a windowless storeroom. Two fluorescent lights across the ceiling made the place look like a new-car showroom. But it smelled like a basement with a leaky water heater.

Doyle said, “Should I call you Ari or Amir when we are all the way back here?”

The man said, “Any time we’re talking about business other than the cameras or electronics that I sell in the store, you call me Amir. Out there, call me Ari. That way there’s never any confusion. It also lets me know exactly why someone is here.”

Doyle nodded. “I settled up on the disposal job you did for me on Staten Island. Now I just need a few supplies and to ask about a quote for another disposal job.”

Amir said, “Not a last-minute, super-rush job?”

“No. I’ll schedule it and make it convenient.”

“How big is the package?”

“About the same size as the last one.”

“Another woman? It’s not like you at all.”

Doyle looked down at his feet. “It may not be necessary. I have to think it through. I figured it was best to talk to you when I was here anyway.”

Amir looked like he was doing some math in his head. “You’re a reliable customer. I’ll give you a good break for anything like that. Especially if you can do it next to one of my vans and we can just shove her in the back.” Then he clapped his hands and said, “You said you needed some supplies as well?”

“I could use more of that same cord you gave me before, two disposable trackers, and a decent monocular that could fit in a jacket pocket. The binoculars I have are too bulky for most of the stuff I need to do here in the city. In fact, I’ll give them to you in case you can sell them up front.”

“You have the original box?”

Doyle nodded. Above all else, Amir was a businessman. He had a family to feed.

The young man from the front called back, “Ari, can you come out here?”

“You’d probably rather be in here while I deal with customers. I’ll be back in a minute,” Amir said.

Doyle looked through some of the shelves that held a few weapons and other tools someone like him might need. He spotted a box on which someone had written “C-4.” His first impulse was to doubt it contained actual explosives. Then he remembered where he was and realized that was exactly what would be in the box. He could hear Ari out in the showroom chatting with a customer and laughing at some lame joke. Two minutes later, the wiry Israeli was back in the storeroom.

Amir grabbed what Doyle had asked for. Doyle handed over cash to cover his supplies. They stepped into the camera shop in the front and suddenly Amir became Ari again. He told the young man to go get something to eat while things were slow.

When they were alone, Ari turned to Doyle and said, “It’s a lot different working on your own than working with the Agency, huh?”

“You can say that again.”

“The Agency usually handles stuff like this, but they have a lot of rules. I hate rules.”

Doyle nodded. “Me too.”

Ari said, “I follow only one business rule now. The customer is always right.” He started to cackle.

For some reason, Ari’s nonchalance and humor made Doyle smile too. He was glad that he’d never given Tammy his last name and had always paid cash at the diner. As long as he never went back, there was no way she could ever identify him.

Still, he hated any loose ends.