An uncomfortably bright beam, recalled from the IF’s room off Lafayette, darted clinically across the crumpled Skink. Brown bent, ran one hand over Skink’s lower back, then, with a grunt of effort, used both hands to flip him over. Milgrim saw Brown’s spotlit hand unzipping the fly of Skink’s saggy pants. "Glock," said Brown, thickly, plucking, like some gross-out conjuring trick, a large pistol from Skink’s open pants.