Vaporlock, having given up on any conversation with Baba Yaga, dropped back to walk next to Franny. “Hey, I recognize you. You’re a cop, right? At Fort Freak?” Franny nodded. “So, if I help you out you’d put in a good word for me, right?”

“You’re not very bright, are you?” Franny said softly.

“Huh?”

“You might want to rethink talking about cutting a deal with me while you’re walking with her.”

“Uh.” Vaporlock raised his voice. “I meant only if she doesn’t need me. I’m totally with her unless she wants me to leave—”

“Sam.” Vaporlock looked up at Franny. “Stop digging,” he said softly.

They went through another door at the back of the casino and up a staircase. The second floor over this wing of the building was living quarters. Franny didn’t think much of the decor. It was cluttered with furniture in competing styles. Leather-covered armchair next to a Louis XIV chair with incongruous leather upholstery. Fringed-edged ottomans, and numerous knickknack tables.

Baba Yaga, trailed by two of the guards, went into the bedroom. A string of what were clearly expletives erupted from the bedroom. Franny went to the door to look. Baba Yaga was staring at an enormous jewelry case on the dresser. It was conspicuously empty.

She brushed past him, hurrying back into the living room. A nod to one of the goons and he threw back the edge of the oriental carpet to reveal a floor safe. She knelt and twisted the dial. Franny sensed the goon’s eyes on him, and he made an obvious show of looking the other way. All this damn furniture crammed into such a small space …

“She … changes people. And not in a good way. We’re talking about furniture.”

The words of the disgraced and now arrested Hollywood producer Michael Berman came floating back. Franny looked more closely at a large armchair. That didn’t look like normal leather. He moved so he could see the front of the chair. The seat held a face. A terrified, openmouthed face. The feet of the chair appeared to be clawed hands, and human feet with the toes tightly clenched. Franny reeled back from the grotesque sight.

A chuckle like dried leaves across concrete. Baba Yaga was stuffing handfuls of various kinds of currency, gem-encrusted jewelry, and gold coins into a leather satchel, but her gaze was fixed on him. “If I kill you, boy, you won’t die easy.”

She’s enjoying my disgust and distress, Franny realized. He schooled his features and gave a shrug. “Then I sure hope you just shoot me. Sucks to admit it, but I’m kinda getting used to it.”

Franny tried not to look at the furniture, but it was like trying not to think about elephants. Clearly Baba Yaga was a wild card. He wondered how she did it. His desperately wandering gaze fell on Vaporlock. His eyes were flicking from the satchel to the three goons to the door of the living quarters. Franny tensed and felt the pull in his side and shoulder.