We were cautious in moving through the front door into the main stairwell, but it was clear too. I used my flash. Someone had been here last night: they’d left a crumpled McDonald’s bag on the floor. And urinated on the stairs. For some reason that enraged me more than the idea of people lying in wait for me.

“It’s just punks, cookie,” Mr. Contreras reassured me. “You can’t let yourself get so wound up over a bunch of punks. I’ll come up and clean it for you.”

“You go take care of Peppy. I’ll worry about this.”

Tim asked if I wanted someone to spend the day—they could manage the move with four men if they had to. I rubbed my eyes, trying to think. Exhaustion was beginning to encase my brain in concrete.

“I don’t think so. We should be okay during the day. Can I check with you tonight? Would you have someone if we need an extra body in a fight?”

Tim agreed readily—business had been light lately. With the recession, fewer people were buying new places and moving into them. We went downstairs together, to make sure Mr. Contreras’s place was clear. I barely had the energy left at that point to make it back up the three flights to my own apartment. I knew I should scrub the stairwell, but couldn’t force the extra action on my body. I just remembered to take off the shoulder holster and unhook my bra before collapsing across the bed.

49

When Top Management Talks …

My sleep was punctuated by dreams of the worst job I’d ever held, trying to sell Time-Life books by phone in the early seventies, except in my dreams I was being pursued by a relentless telemarketer. At one point I thought I’d actually picked up the phone and yelled “I don’t want to buy anything now” into it. I slammed it down only to have it start ringing again.

I sat up in bed. It was one-thirty and my mouth felt like a cotton-ball factory. The phone was ringing. I eyed it malevolently, but finally picked it up.

“Yes?”

“Is this V. I. Warshawski? Why in hell did you hang up on me just now? I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”

“I’m not on your payroll, Mr. Loring. I’m not worried about jumping high enough fast enough to keep you happy.”

“Don’t give me that crap, Warshawski. You yanked pretty hard on my chain Monday, warned me Paragon’s affairs would be in the papers if I didn’t talk to you. You can’t pull a stunt like that, then leave me hanging.”

I made a sour face at the phone. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

“Not over the phone. You can meet me in Lincolnwood in half an hour if you leave now.”