He smirked and flicked his cigarette into my mother’s hydrangeas. “We’re looking for Greg. He seems to have misplaced a significant amount of our employer’s money.

Word is he’s hiding under his mommy-in-law’s skirt.”

“He doesn’t live here,” I said evenly. “This is private property. You have thirty seconds to vacate it before I call the Richmond Police Department and report an attempted home invasion by known associates of an unlicensed lending operation.”

The smirk faded. He sized me up, looking for the bluff. He didn’t find one. I wasn’t intimidated by muscle. I had traded gunfire with men who would eat these three for breakfast.

“Tell Greg the interest went up today,” he grunted. “And tell him we know where his wife sleeps.”

They piled into the SUVs and peeled out, leaving a cloud of exhaust.