I put down the empty bottle and smiled at my friend. “This is the first time that I’ve been here that I’m more scabrous than the room. Let me take a shower before I do anything else.”

“These clothes were in the lost and found,” she said, and handed me the cardboard box.

“Thanks, honey.” I took the box and went into the tiny bathroom. When I saw myself in the mirror, I understood why Mercedes had been horrified. I looked like something a cat had dug up, chewed, and spit out.

As I showered, I thought about how marvelous preformed plastic shower stalls were, and how fabulous tiny bars of soap were, and how incredible lukewarm water was. Then I dried myself with a fantastic rough terry towel and picked through the amazing collection of clothes in the lost and found box.

There were several pairs of thong and bikini underwear, each far cleaner than the disgusting chones I’d taken off. I picked a pair that looked as if they hadn’t been worn, purple glittery leggings, and a black sweatshirt with the collar ripped off.

I found a pair of pink socks, shiny black demi boots that were only a size too big, and a really fabulous pink plastic jacket with epaulets and gold buttons. I found one gold hoop earring that I put on, feeling quite piratical.

I took the plastic liner out of the trash bin and put my own clothes in it. I tied the top of the bag to contain the noxious fumes and walked out into the bedroom.

“I feel better now. How’s Rosemary?”

“He’s happy as the bar mascot. I’ve been looking all over for you.” Mercedes walked back and forth in the narrow space between the bed and a fake marble counter with a cheap coffee machine. “I knew something was wrong when you didn’t answer my calls.”

“More wrong than abridged versions of the classics.” I dropped onto the bed and stretched out. “This mattress is divine. It’s like I’m floating on a cloud. Do you have some quarters for the Magic Fingers?”

Mercedes fished into her pocket, pulled out coins, and put them in the Magic Fingers slot. As the bed began jiggling, she said, “I had Los Hackeros check police and hospital reports, just in case, and nothing came up.”

“I was kept off the grid.”

“Anyway,” she said, “I knew you weren’t with Ian …”

“Because you knew he was in Oslo with his model-bitch-lover Ilena. He didn’t tell me he’d gone. We officially broke up.”

“Where is Wilcox?”

“Dead. Someone stabbed him and left his body at my place on the night I was supposed to meet him. I thought Ian did it,” I said. “Poor, beautiful, wonderful Wil.”

“Oh, Milagro,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”