I usually have two responses to being cornered. One leaves somebody bloody on the floor. The other results in a lot of running. Because Myra was so attractive and straightforward, I chose neither and just answered the question.

“I don’t date,” I said. “People I like tend to wind up hurt . . . or worse.”

Myra looked at me for a long time, but she wasn’t judging me. She was trying to figure me out. Then she stopped and glanced toward the door. She looked back at me and nodded. Somebody was coming up the stairs.

After a moment, two guys appeared at the top of the stairway. John and Sean, I guessed. One was tall, with red hair and an expression somewhere between grim and nasty. He wore a silk skull and crossbones shirt with jeans rolled in fifties cuffs. The other guy was a bit shorter, but pleasant looking, with blond, slicked-back hair. They looked to be in their mid-twenties and both had big green army duffels slung over their shoulders.

Red walked right through the room without even so much as glancing our way and went straight to the service elevator. After noisily opening the cage, he waited impatiently as the blond stopped in front of us and placed the duffle down on the floor. I could see by the way the muscles in his forearms strained and relaxed that the load wasn’t light.

“Man, that laundromat is a fucking pain,” he said, and extended his hand to me. “Hi, I’m John. You must be Jerry’s friend?”

We shook hands as I nodded and fake smiled. I lit a cigarette and watched him as he leaned over and picked up the bag. His legs tightened. His calves flexed. That was some heavy laundry. After flashing another grin, he met Red (who I assumed was Sean) in the elevator.

Myra was staring at me. “You want to go get some beer?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

I needed to talk to her. I got a distinct freak vibe off of both John and Sean, and I’d seen bags with that kind of weight before. The bags were either filled with bricks wrapped in cloth or chopped- up body parts, and the baby fist seemed to support the second possibility. Nothing weighs down like human tissue.

I didn’t say anything to Myra, but I had the horrible feeling Jerry was in those duffels.

We left the loft and walked along the deserted streets. It was dark and about as empty as any urban downtown that I’d ever seen. Some cities are like that, even parts of D.C. There are city blocks that are only populated during the work week. At night and on weekends, they become ghost towns.

“The walk was a good idea,” I said as we strolled.

“It wasn’t all a lie. We do need beer.” Myra watched the ground as she walked, as though she were searching for something.