Bullock looked at me seriously. “Can I ask you something?”

I wasn’t in any position to say anything but “Sure.”

“You think this makes me some kind of fag?”

“I really hadn’t thought about it one way or another. As I said, I’m a collector myself, and so I try not to judge.” Fact was, I was not thinking “fag.” I was thinking “nut.”

“Well, I’m not a fag. I like pussy, ask anyone. Ain’t that right?” he asked Pockmark.

“You bet,” said Pockmark. “You love pussy.”

“That’s right. You got time for a story?”

Slowly, I nodded.

“I had a sister growing up, she was two years older than me, my mom showered her with Barbies, you know? Kind of a shared interest. And when I was around six, and my sister, her name was Leanne, this would be when she was eight, she got hit by a car, you know. She died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, so, this kind of cracked up my mom, she just kept on buying dolls and outfits and givin’ them to me. And so I took them, built up a collection, to keep my mom happy. Like it was keeping my sister alive somehow, you know?”

“Where was your father?” I asked, genuinely wondering. It was hard to picture a dad standing by and watching this happen.

“Oh, him, he fucked off when I was like one. My mom raised me without that asshole. So my mom, she died a few years ago, too, she had cancer, but this collection, it’s my way of keeping the memory of her and my sister alive.”

Pockmark said, “Our boss here, he’s sort of a tragic figure.”

Barbie Bullock nodded. “Yeah, that’s kind of what I am.”

“I can see that,” I said.

“The thing is, I’ve really kind of gotten into it over the years. It’s good to have a hobby, right? Once, couple years back, we busted into a warehouse, thinking it was going to be full of stereos, and whaddya know, the place is jammed to the rafters with Barbie stuff. Must have been a shipment from Mattel to a toy store or something, it was like busting into Fort Knox by accident.”

He cleared his throat, like he was getting hoarse. He coughed twice, took a drink of water.

“Well,” I said, feeling the tape pull at the hairs on my leg. I was sure I’d put on enough to hold the gun in place. The last thing I wanted was for it to fall out of my pants. I didn’t think there was a chance I could go for it, get it into my hand, before Pockmark had emptied his own gun into me.

My hope was that I wouldn’t even need it. That Trimble would make an appearance at just the right moment.