"You go first," Pete said to El Ladron. "All you have to do is hit this puck across the ice and into the sign in the fence that says 'Bienvenue au Canada!'. There is no goalie; it should be easy."

This will play directly into my hands, El Ladron thought. They will knock me down, and then they will have to take me inside the Inn, where I will warm up, drink New Jersey apple brandy, and steal the manuscript. Soon, with one effective push and shove, El Ladron was lying on the ice, moaning that he was injured and needed to go inside. "It is not safe to move you, but we will call the Mounties to helicopter you to the nearest appropriate facility in Canada." Pete informed him.

"The Mounties? That is not a good idea." Inside El Ladron's right skate, Yuri noticed a bulge about the size and shape of a Beretta small caliber, pocket-size pistol. "First I need to remove my boot to prevent swelling," El Labron whimpered.

"Don't take off your skate too fast. That could damage your ankle," Yuri advised, positioning himself appropriately. The cross check was an action for which he spent much time in the penalty box. Calmly, he grasped his hockey stick in both hands; signaled to Pete to take cover. El Ladron had not watched much hockey. He smiled as he unlaced his skate.