"Specifically, we're looking for the owner of a van," Mike says, voice light and conversational, nudging the barrel of his gun against the man's chin. In spite of himself, in spite of his own mild horror, he's feeling it again, the old excitement at having someone in this position. Hoping, almost, that they don't make it too easy for him.

He nudges again. "Look, we got no reason to keep you alive if you're not useful. If you're not being useful on purpose, I think I can come up with some ways to loosen up your lips."

The man glares at the two of them, but something behind his eyes is starting to waver, and something else is creeping in, something a little like fear. He's starting to understand, with the slow thinking of a man unused to having guns pointed at him, that this is deadly serious. "I don't know what you're talking about."