Panic began to rise in every pore of Peter's body. A trap? They set up a trap? Though not responsible, he felt in that moment that he led Tom straight into the police's hands. He swallowed, stood up, put his hands behind his back, and began to pace, steadying his breathing.

"You okay, kid?" asked MacCollum. Peter nodded and, after a few seconds, sat back down. MacCollum stopped the tape recorder and stared directly at Peter, while Peter did everything he could to avert MacCollum's gaze.

"The truth is, we need you, Peter. I can call you Peter, right?"

"Ye-yes. Of-of course."

"Peter, Marge let slip last time she and I spoke that Tom had taken on a lover in the form of a dark haired British gentleman. When I noticed you in the lobby I had my suspicions that you were him. Noticing your panic right now, I think I'm correct in my assumptions."

This did nothing but increase Peter's fears. He never pretended to be anything he wasn't or hide his sexuality in any way, but homosexuality was a crime in Italy and, as such, he was always careful to never be overt about it.

"Peter, this is off-the-table. We have bigger fish to fry right now, and the biggest is one that you could probably help us with more than anything. Lovers tell each other secrets they wouldn't tell anyone else. They don't hide anything."

"He hid a few things," Peter let slip, and then closed his eyes, silently chiding himself.

"I'm sure he did, Peter. I'm sure he's done a lot of pretty awful things to you. Now's your chance to make him pay for how he treated you. We're going to ask a lot of you. We're going to plant you in Palermo and persuade him to come back to Venice. Since these crimes were committed on Italian soil, getting him out of Sicily will make the formalities much easier. Long story short, we're going to use you as bait."

"You will do no such thing," said Peter politely but firmly.

"Well, Peter, that's up to you. But if we take care of the matter ourselves, then evidence of your deviances might come back into light and you might serve some jail time along with lover boy."

"That's blackmail! You can't do that!"

MacCollum smiled.

"That's your opinion. My offer. Take it or leave it and be prepared to face the consequences. The choice is yours."

Peter took several seconds before coming to a decision. This would no doubt be the end of the line for Tom, and it would be partially his fault that Tom spends the right of his life in a secure prison or worse. This was the gallows and he was the reluctant executioner, and once he made such a decision, he could never take it back. He was killing the love of his life the way that the love of his life nearly killed him. Tom's life as a con man, Tom's livelihood, Tom's freedom, would die. Peter's shoulders felt more and more weighted as he just barely held back tears. MacCollum glanced at his watch.

"I don't have all day, Mr. Smith-Kingsley."

"Okay! Okay! I'll do it. I'll do it."

"Good man."

MacCollum handed a Colt .11 to Peter.

"I hope you don't need to use this," he said.

"Yeah, me either," replied Peter, his voice quavering.

Peter walked out of the office broken. Marge gave him a hug as he had himself a quick cry and then straightened his coat.

"My father once told me that it was frightfully bad form to cry in public. I guess I was never one for formalities, anyway."

Marge smiled sympathetically.

"You are doing the right thing," she reassured him once more.

"God, I certainly hope so. Because I've never felt more wrong in my life."

Peter then remembered MacCollum's threat and turned away, angry but trying and failing not to show it.

"Thanks a lot, by the way," he said.

"For what?"

"Outing me to the police!"

"What's the big deal?"

"Marge do you know what they do to homosexuals in prison?"

Marge stopped and tried to give Peter another hug, but he brushed it off. She never considered that Peter would be put into such an impossible situation. Her objective was take down Tom, but not make other people suffer as a result.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I wasn't thinking."

"Yeah, that's pretty bloody obvious," he muttered under his breath, equal parts furious and terrified.

"Peter!"

"I'm going to head home a different way. Good night, Marge."

"Peter!" she called, but he had already walked off in despondency. She hung her head in equal parts shame and worry for her friend.