Inside the saloon’s Feed Troff, Lynyrd Skynyrd’s booming through the speakers, the Budweiser neon signs are lit up, ceiling fans slowly turn. Saddles and autographs fill the walls, and models of motorcycles and rodeo horses and ceramic snakes decorate windowsills. The wooden tables are packed with bikers. More bikers are outside on the porch, everybody eating and drinking and getting ready for the Hed Shop Boys concert.

“Son of a bitch,” Marino mumbles, staring at the cell phone on the table, at the wireless Bluetooth earpiece next to it. Ignoring the call is impossible. It’s her. Even though the display says Restricted, he knows it’s her. By now she’s bound to have seen what’s on the desktop of his computer. He’s surprised and irritated it’s taken this long. At the same time, he feels the thrill of vindication. He imagines Dr. Self wanting him like Shandy does. Wearing him out like Shandy does. For a solid week, he’s gotten no sleep.

“Like I always say, the person’s not going to get any deader, right?” Shandy reminds him. “Let the Big Chief take care of it for once.”

It’s her. Shandy doesn’t know it. Assumes it’s some funeral home. Marino reaches for his bourbon and ginger, keeps glancing at his cell phone.

“Let her take care of it for once,” Shandy rants on. “Fuck her.”

Marino doesn’t answer, his tension growing as he swirls what’s left of his drink. Not answering Scarpetta’s calls or returning them makes his chest tight with anxiety. He thinks about what Dr. Self said and feels deceived and abused. His face heats up. For the better part of twenty years, Scarpetta has made him feel he’s not good enough, when maybe the problem is her. That’s right. It’s probably her. She doesn’t like men. Hell, no. And all these years she’s made him feel the problem is him.

“Let the Big Chief take care of whoever the latest stiff is. She’s got nothing better to do,” Shandy says.

“You don’t know a thing about her or what she’s doing, either.”

“You’d be surprised what I know about her. Better watch it.” Shandy motions for another drink.

“Better watch what?”

“You sticking up for her. Because it sure is getting on my nerves. Like maybe you keep forgetting who I am in your life.”

“After a whole week.”

“Just remember, baby. It’s not on call. But at her beck and call,” she says. “Why should you? Why should you always jump when she says it? Jump! Jump!” She snaps her fingers and laughs.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Jump! Jump!” She leans forward so he can see what’s inside her silk vest.

Marino reaches for his phone, reaches for his earpiece.