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garage, tucked in underneath the bedroom level, had walls on three sides with the opening facing the perimeter wall. The gate was offset so that there was no easy direct view from the street of the parking space. No one would see anyone entering or leaving, not in any detail that wouldn’t be obscured by the SUV’s tinted windows.
    “And we’ve got roads,” Graft added, “that will do for a quick getaway. In fact, we’ve got a lot of roads, so it would be a quick and unpredictable getaway. If that turned out to be impossible, there’s unbuilt wooded area”—he pointed to the northwest—“about three hundred meters thataway. And more, even closer, to the south. We’ve got the big lake, Laguna de Bay, a mile to the east, too, so a water exfiltration is, at least, a possibility. There are some expats around, so a few gringos, more or less, won’t excite any excess curiosity.”
    Lox still looked skeptical. “Okay, so why are they here? Six Kanos in one house, even if it’s a big house, is still freaking suspicious.”
    “That’s one of the beauties of the place,” Graft answered, grinning with enthusiasm. “It’s fancy enough that an American or European businessman with an administrative assistant and four bodyguards wouldn’t be out of place.
    “By the way, how much did the realtor say the owners wanted?”
    “Two hundred thirty-three thousand USD. I can get it for two hundred, if I slip the realtor ten under the table.”
    “Wouldn’t happen in the States,” Graft sneered.
    With a chuckle, Lox replied, “No, in the States, these days, I’d have to slip the realtor twenty but I’d get it for a hundred and ninety. Speaking of which,” he added, seeing the realtor coming back, “make yourself scarce for a bit. They’re corrupt here, though maybe not as bad as we’re becoming. Even so, they’ve enough sense of propriety not to want witnesses.”
    “And, speaking of witnesses,” Graft said, leaving for the SUV, “it would be suspicious as all hell for an American businessman with an administrative assistant and four guards not to have a maid and/or cook.”
    “One thing at a time, Sergeant,” Lox chided. “Now we go to the realtor’s office and close on the property. Then we’re going to see if an old acquaintance of mine can set this crew up with, at least, a few shotguns. Or whatever. Then we worry about a maid and a cook.”

    Samurai Arms, Inc., National Road, Bucal,
    Calamba City, Republic of the Philippines

    “ Samurai Arms?” Graft asked, seeing the business’ name neatly painted on the plate glass window fronting the street. A spotless, apparently brand new, van sat in an alley next door.
    Lox gave a half shrug. “The Filipinos can hold a grudge, just like anybody else, but they don’t make a religion of it. And the war was a long time ago. In any case, this place exists in good part for ‘gun tourism,’ Japanese who can’t have weapons come here—a few other places, too—and get to make a joyful sound unto the Lord.”
    “What’s going to be available?”
    “You never can tell,” Lox answered. “Legally, he usually keeps around three hundred open and aboveboard guns on the premises. But he runs a little side business where it’s catch of the day.” Pointing with his chin at the glass door with the warning sign that absolutely no loaded weapons were allowed within, Lox said, “Come on.”
    As the door swung open, a guard—it was most unlikely that the proscription on loaded weapons applied to him—leveled a shotgun at the pair of Americans. Lox just stood there calmly while Graft began raising his hands.
    “Knock it off, Manuel,” commanded a fair skinned Filipina standing behind a glass case. “These are clients .” Sheepishly, the young guard lowered the shotgun.
    “Ben’s in back, Peter,” the woman said.
    “Thanks, Gracie,” Lox answered, starting forward toward a steel door to the right of the display case.
    “Haven’t seen you in—what is it?