Prologue

      The brass bell jangled merrily as Frank Devlin pushed open the heavy glass door at Mason’s Liquor Store and gave a good-natured grin to the store owner, short and plump Robert Mason, who stood behind the counter. Frank’s long strides took him unerringly to the cooler at the rear of the store, where he searched through the cold bottles of champagne and wines, until he found the one bottle he sought and pulled it out.

      “Thanks for chilling this for me, Robert. This is Emma’s absolute favorite.”

      “Special occasion, eh?” Robert already knew. For the past five years on this date he’d gone through the same routine with Frank. The special champagne, the ritual of having it chilled and ready so that when Frank got home he could pop the cork without delay. The Devlins were two of his favorite customers. They were so much in love, even after five years of marriage.

      “Emma claims that you call me up and remind me to do this,” Frank said. He stopped near the selection of red wines. “She says you’re a handsome rascal. She’s also implied that I grew my mustache because she thinks yours is sexy.”

      “If Emma Devlin was my wife, I’d give her champagne for breakfast everyday,” Robert answered. “She’s a knockout, and you’re a lucky man.”

      “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.”

      The brass bell over the door jangled again. Frank selected a bottle of wine for the special dinner he knew his wife was cooking and turned back toward the cash register with a grin that quickly faded from his face. The wine bottle he held aloft was lowered to his side.

      “Hit the floor, mister.” The young man in a black leather jacket pointed a blue-black pistol directly at Frank Devlin’s heart.

      “Okay.” Frank lowered his lanky frame to the liquor store floor. He had seen the look of terror on Robert’s face. It was echoed on those of the two other customers caught innocently in what was surely an armed robbery. There were two robbers, both with guns and both wearing dark ski masks pulled over their faces. The second gunman was smaller, in a blue windbreaker.

      “Take the money. Just don’t hurt anyone,” Robert Mason said from his prone position. “Take anything you want. Then get out. We don’t want any trouble here.”

      “Shut up!” The leather-jacketed robber kicked Robert in the face as he lay on the floor. “When I need your permission, I’ll ask for it.”

      The second robber, busy at the cash drawer, laughed. “That’s right, you tell ‘em, Diamond. We don’t need nobody’s permission!”

      Frank