If they were just getting me to the plant so that they could kill me in private, I didn’t think I had a prayer. I wished I’d seen Lotty before I came down here. I wished she hadn’t spent the last week in fear because of me. And I wished my own last minutes weren’t to be spent in terror.

I still had my gun. But I couldn’t figure out how to get to it without one of my escorts shooting first. When we pulled up on the tarmac in front of the plant, the Hulk slid out of the backseat and opened the driver’s door. His pal ordered me to kill the engine. I did, but left the key in the ignition. The Hulk yanked on my left arm, wrenching me from the car, while his pal kept me covered. From around the side I could hear the throb of truck engines.

I whirled inside the Hulk’s arm, so that his body shielded me from his partner, and kicked hard on his shin. The damned Tigers were too soft.

The Hulk grunted, but kept his hold. “Don’t make it harder on yourself than it already is, girlie.”

He frog-marched me into the building, his partner covering us. We went down the long hall past the assembly room where the women had been so sympathetic about my uncle. Past the T-intersection that led to the loading bays. On around to the small stretch of corridor that housed the offices. The Hulk pounded on Chamfers’s door. A voice told us to come in.

Milt Chamfers was sitting on a chair in front on his desk. Jason Felitti was facing him. Behind the desk sat the big brother, Peter.

“Thanks, Simon,” Chamfers said. “You can wait for us outside.”

Simon. Why could I never remember his name?

“She had a gun when she was here before,” the Hulk said.

“Ah … a gun. Have you searched her?” That was Peter Felitti.

It didn’t take Simon long to find the Smith & Wesson. His hand lingered longer than was necessary on my left breast. I stared past him stonily, hoping there would be a chance to respond more appropriately in the future.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Warshawski. You did go back to your maiden name, didn’t you, after your divorce?” Peter Felitti asked when Simon had closed the door behind him.

“No.” I massaged my shoulder where the Hulk had yanked it from the socket.

“No, what?” Chamfers demanded.

“I didn’t go back to my own name: I never gave it up. Thank God, of all the imbecile things I did when I was young and in love, I never allowed myself to be called Mrs. Yarborough. Speaking of which, where is the distinguished counselor?”

Jason and Peter exchanged angry looks.

“I wanted to bring him,” Jason began, but Peter cut him off.

“I tell you, the less he knows, the better.”