“Anyone got anything long and thin?” Mike asked, cold sweat bursting out all over his body. He regretted losing his switchblade in the melee at Butcher’s.
“Not at the moment,” Twitch snickered.
“No, I mean like a bobby pin or a knife.” It had been a long time since Mike had picked a lock, but the keyhole was huge, a keyhole for an old-style warded lock rather than a modern tumbler, which probably meant that the lock was easy.
Eddie slapped a pocketknife into Mike’s hand.
“Thanks, Eddie,” Mike said. While he snapped the blade open, he heard a ripping sound from where Eddie stood. He shone his light on the guitarist and saw Eddie strapping his Maglite to the underside of his shotgun with a strip of duct tape.
“You carry a lot of stuff in those pockets,” he observed.
“Man of action has to be prepared,” Eddie sniffed.
“Maybe you should MacGyver open the door.”
“You MacGyver the door,” Eddie chuckled. “I’m gonna MacGyver a little Baal Zavuv.”
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