Silas no longer cared if his carefully-sown client was going to do something stupid; his kits were far too valuable and far too difficult to come by to replace. He’d find somebody else, some other paying client to work on. Walking over to the wall, he ripped his sawed-off Nineteen from the wall, and flushed his Boosters. He swore under his breath that he didn’t put on any armor before this appointment. At least he put his shoulder strap on. That strap was like his credbase. He never left home without it.