We waited for the woman to catch her breath. In the salmon glow of a streetlight, her flesh looked pale and soft with fast-food fat. Black underwear bunched out from the waistband of her overstuffed jeans.

Finally, the woman straightened. Still breathing hard, she dug Marlboros from a back pocket, shook the pack, and pulled a cigarette free with her lips.

Ryan withdrew his hand. “You all right?”

Slipping matches from the cellophane, the woman cupped her fingers, lit up, and drew smoke into her lungs, all the while keeping her eyes down.

“Why the rabbit act, sunshine?” Bad-cop Ollie. “You got something to hide? Something we should know about?”

The woman exhaled, creating a silvery cone beneath each nostril.

“I’m talking to you.”

The cigarette tip flared again, bathing the clown face in a soft orange glow.

“You got a hearing disorder?”

The woman exhaled as before, then, eyes still averted, tossed the match.

“That’s it.” Ollie yanked cuffs from his belt.

Good cop raised a “hold it” palm toward bad cop.

“What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Phoenix.” Barely audible.

“May I ask your first name?”

“Phoenix Miller. Everyone just knows me by Phoenix.”

“One of my favorite towns.”

“Yeah. I heard Arizona’s pretty.”

“I’m Detective Ryan. My gruff friend here is Sergeant Hasty.”

Phoenix flicked her Marlboro with a ragged thumbnail. The ash dropped and dissolved in the oil-iridescent puddle at our feet.

“We’d like to ask you a couple of questions, Phoenix.”

“About what?”

“A gentleman at the bar says he saw Annaliese Ruben with you last night.”

“Shelby Hoch ain’t no gentleman. He’s a foulmouthed slug.”

“Thanks for the insightful character analysis.” Ollie, Prince of Sarcasm. “Annaliese Ruben?”

“Why do you want her?”

“I’m her dentist, and I’m worried she’s not flossing her teeth.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Hoch says he saw the two of you at a motel. What hot-sheet palace would that be, sweetheart?”

Phoenix studied the Marlboro as if it might provide guidance. It trembled in her fingers.

“Your girlfriend still there?”

“How would I know?”

“Birds of a feather.”

“I’m out of the life.”

“Right.” Ollie snorted. “You quit rolling down your panties for twenty bucks and some flake.”

The lipsticked mouth opened, but nothing came out. In the surreal light, it looked like a round dark hole.

“We’re not interested in your personal life,” Ryan said. “We want to find Ruben.”

“She in trouble?” For the first time, Phoenix allowed her eyes to make contact with those of another.

“We want to help her.” Ryan held her gaze as he sidestepped the question.

“She’s just a dumb kid.”

“Selling poontang out of Motel Sleaze.” Ollie.

“I’m telling you. It’s not like that.”

“What’s it like?”

“I clean. They comp me a room.” As she spoke, Phoenix kept looking to Ryan for reassurance.

“You live at the motel?”

She nodded.

“Which one?”

“The Paradise Resort.”

“Hundred and Eleventh Street?” Ollie asked.

“You won’t mess me up, will you? I need that room.” Phoenix’s eyes bounced from Ryan to Ollie and back. “It’s a good gig.”