"Pepper spray," said Conner, "up close and personal." He pulled over, midway between two streetlamps, to park behind an American automobile that looked to Netherton as though it might one day warrant a place in Lev’s grandfather’s collection. "Okay, unmuting now." He cleared his throat. "Leaving you boys, but I need thirty more minutes of your silence, starting now. That means no calls in or out, no texts, no web, no radio. If you’ve got any of the above, and want to gamble they won’t detonate junior here, be my guest. I’m leaving him under the truck." He opened the door, climbed down, and closed it. "We’re muted now," he said.