"And what organization is that?"

"Acquisition and distribution."

"Drugs, drugs, guns, drugs, sex slaves, drugs."

His eyes twinkle.

"I can't help you," she says.

"You can. You have vision. You're not a moral person."

"That stings," she says. And it does. She says it all snarky, but it genuinely stings. An evil man like this thinks he's found a bird of his feather? "I'm a bad girl, not a bad person."

"There is a difference?"

Miriam's eyes are two knife-holes, out of which pour hatred.

"I did not think so," he says, stroking her diary with long fingers. "You will work for me, then. Welcome to the team. The organization appreciates your unique skill-set."

"I'd like to discuss my benefits."

Hairless chuckles. "Oh?"

"I don't need health benefits, because I drink too much, and I smoke even more. In fact, right now I'm kind of ready to gnaw my hands off for a cigarette. So, in return for saving you some money with those health insurance companies – they're vampires, don't you know – I propose that you simply let my friend, Louis, be. Just let it lie."

"But what of my suitcase?"

"I can get it for you. Let me go to him. I can get the case, no questions."

"You're offering this to me? As a negotiation?"

"I am. I'll work for you if you spare him."

She sees him consider it. The offer passes before his face like a shadow. He cups his chin. He rubs the flat of his hand against his Hairless Fucker head. But then she realizes: He's just putting on a show. Hairless is mocking her.

"Hmm," he says, dragging out the consonance. "No."

"Fine, then I don't work for you."

"You are not in a negotiating position. The lowest, sickliest wolf in the pack does not negotiate with the alpha for a bigger bite of the kill. It is not done. You would not respect me if I gave in to your wishes. I sense you are a, how to put it? A get an inch, take a mile kind of girl, yes? I give a little now, and you walk all over me. I am not your father."

"No shit. Your dull, Eurotrash seed couldn't father a donkey. Though I'm sure you've tried, you froo-froo piece-of-shit donkey-fucker skinhead."

"Besides," Hairless says, ignoring her. "You obviously care about this man in the truck. That is a no-no. I must take away those things you care about, so all that is left is me."

He approaches the tub after setting her diary down on the closed lid of the toilet.

He puts one foot on the tub's edge. He floats his hands above her hips – he does not touch them, but his fingers hover. They hover up over her stomach, her tits.

"I am all that you need to care about. My approval. My smiling face. They know."

Harriet and Frankie – the "they" in question – shoot looks to each other. Frankie looks uncomfortable, but Harriet's dull eyes dance for a half-second; they flash like mirrors.