“You are sorry,” he said. He walked to a row of three long metal shelves stacked piggyback against the wall beside the back door. From the middle shelf he took a leather sheath and a gray sharpening stone. Then he strolled back across the room and pulled his stool against the wall, out of my reach and Shirley’s. Sitting down, he unsheathed the knife and winked at me. “Shirley,” he coaxed. “Look here, honey. I want to ask you something.” Again, she lifted her head to Orson, taking long, asthmatic breaths.

“Do you appreciate fine craftsmanship?” he asked. “Let me tell you about this knife.”

She disintegrated into hysteria, but Orson paid her sobs and pleadings no attention. For the moment, he’d forgotten me, alone with his victim.

“I acquired this tool from a custom knife maker in Montana. His work is incredible.” Orson slid the blade methodically up and down the sharpening stone. “It’s a five-and-a-half-inch blade, carbon steel, three millimeters thick. Had a helluva time trying to explain to this knife maker the uses to which I’d be putting this thing. ’Cause, you know, you’ve got to tell them exactly what you need it for, so they’ll fashion the appropriate blade. Finally, I ended up saying to the guy, ‘Look, I’ll be cleaning a lot of big game.’ And I think that’s accurate. I mean, I’m gonna clean you, Shirley. Wouldn’t you consider yourself big game?”

Shirley hunched over on her knees, her face pressed into the floor, praying to God. I prayed with her, and I don’t even believe.

Orson went on, “Well, I’ve got to say, I’ve been thrilled with its performance. As you can see, the blade is slightly serrated, so it can slice through that tough pectoral muscle, but it’s thick enough to hack through the rib cage, too. Now that’s a rare combination in a blade. It’s why I paid three hundred and seventy-five dollars for it. See the hilt? Black-market ivory.” He shook his head. “An utterly exquisite tool.

“Hey, I want your opinion on something, Shirley. Look up here.” She obeyed him. “See the discoloration on the blade? That comes from the acids in the meat when I’m carving, and I was wondering if it’s scarier for you, knowing I’m getting ready to butcher you, to see those stains on the blade and realize that your meat will soon be staining this blade, too? Or, would it be more frightening if this blade was as bright and shiny as the day I first got it? ’Cause if that’s the case, I’ll get a crocus cloth and polish it up right now for you.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Shirley said, sitting up suddenly. She gazed into Orson’s eyes, trying to be brave. “I’ll give you whatever you want. Anything. Name it.”