“Since I own this building, I don’t think we have to worry too much if we make a mess, but tar is the dickens to get off, I’m told,” Maggie said.

“Tar?” Bell bellowed.

“Oh, my God, what are you going to do with tar?” Newsom wailed pitifully.

“We’re going to paint your entire bodies with this black tar, and then we’re going to…Myra, dear, since he talked so rudely to you, do you want to tell him what step two is?” Annie asked.

“Thank you for allowing me to speak, Countess. We’re going to use this hair dryer to blow these feathers all over the wet tar,” Myra said, motioning to a pile of feather pillows under the dining-room table. “Nikki, dear, do you want to tell Mr. Bell what step three is?”

“I’d love to tell him, Myra. Thank you for giving me the chance to speak,” Nikki said. “Step three, Mr. Bell, is we’re going to hang you up on the specially reinforced shower rod we installed earlier until you dry. Oooh, this tar really smells.”

“Jesus Christ, you can kill us doing something like that! You’re insane!” Bell shouted.

“Of course we’re insane. We wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Annie said cheerfully. “You do know it is almost impossible to remove tar, don’t you? Tar with feathers attached is impossible to remove. Why else do you think they put tar on roads?”

Adel Newsom squealed, then fainted dead away.

The women put on ski goggles, snapped their plastic raincoats into place, then pulled on their latex gloves.

“Last chance, Mr. Bell,” Kathryn said as she removed the lid from a twenty-five-gallon can of coal black tar. She poured some of the tar into a bucket and picked up a paintbrush. “Where are the records? We want the account numbers for all your bank accounts. Give us what we want, and you’re free to go.”

After being revived so that she could appreciate what was about to happen, Adel Newsom was doing her best to crawl into herself. She fidgeted and squirmed until her back end made contact with the clothing the Sisters had removed from Bell. She saw his keys, his wallet, and his money clip lying on the floor, by his socks. She tore her gaze away from her lover’s belongings long enough to cry out, “For God’s sake, Baron, tell them what they want to know.” Then she started to sob, her thin, scrawny shoulders shaking.

“Maybe he needs some incentives,” Kathryn said.

“And that would be what, dear?” Annie asked curiously.

“Well, if we…uh…paint over his rectum and his…you know, that little thing, how long before things…you know, back up?” asked Kathryn.