Mitch was anxiously licking Marcena’s face. When I dragged him aside to put a hand against her neck, I did feel a faint, erratic beat. I pulled out my cell phone, but using it as a flashlight must have drained the battery—it was completely dead.

I struggled to my feet. The garbage trucks might be a half mile away, a long trek across this terrain, but I didn’t know anyplace closer to go for help—I certainly couldn’t make it back the way we’d come in the hopes Mr. Contreras was still there with the car.

“Will you stay with her, old boy?” I said to Mitch. “Maybe if you lie against her, keep her warm, she’ll live.”

I gave him a hand signal, the command to lie down and then to stay. He whimpered and looked at me uncertainly, but settled down again next to Marcena. I was starting to hoist myself up the side of the pit when I heard a phone ring. It was so unexpected that I thought I was hallucinating again, phones in the middle of nowhere, fried eggs might fall at my feet in a second or two.

“Marcena’s cell phone!” I laughed a little hysterically and turned back to her.

The ringing was coming from Romeo’s body, not Marcena’s. It stopped, message going to voice mail, I guess. I stuck a squeamish hand into his coat pockets and came up with a bunch of keys, a pack of cigarettes, and a fistful of lottery tickets. The phone started ringing again. His jeans pockets. His jeans were torn and plastered to his body by his drying blood. I could hardly bear to touch them, but I held my breath and stuck a hand into the left front pocket to extract the phone.

“Billy?” A sharp male voice spoke.

“No. Who are you? We need help, we need an ambulance.”

“Who is this?” The voice was even sharper.

“V. I. Warshawski,” I croaked. “Who are you? I need you to call for help.”

I tried to describe where I was: close to the CID landfill, close to water, probably Lake Calumet, but the man hung up on me. I called 911 and gave the dispatcher my name and the same vague description of my location. She said she’d do her best to get someone to me, but she didn’t know how long it would take.

“The man is dead, I think, but the woman is still breathing. Please hurry.” My voice was such a hoarse thread by now that I couldn’t sound urgent or pathetic; it was all I could do to get the words out.