I hit the release clamp on the winch and Bobby plummets toward the floor again. He screams even louder than before. This time, when the rope yanks him up short, he bellows like a bull being gelded. Definitely dislocated a shoulder this time. Slowly I winch him back up, panting by the time he is back up level with the catwalk. I lean over the railing to get a closer look at him. With his hands chained together behind his back, he already looks a little like a carved figurehead on the bow of a ship, with his chest thrust out, but now his left shoulder is cocked at an awkward angle, his left arm hanging nerveless and unmoving. Fat beads of sweat run down his face, and his eyes are closed and he’s moaning.

“Bobby,” I say, snapping my fingers, and his eyes open, bright with pain. Slowly, he focuses on me. “I’m looking for someone. Don’t make me drop you again.”

“Okay,” he gasps, the word wrenched out of him. “Okay, okay. Oh, God.”

“She’s fourteen,” I say. “A real stunner. She likes Coca-Cola and her daddy’s pepián. It’s a stew they make in Guatemala.”

Bobby is starting to go into shock, his eyes rolling back. I sigh and reach out and grab his left shoulder, and he snaps his head back and screams from the pain. The echoes take a while to subside.

“We’re all alone here, Bobby,” I say when he quiets to a reasonable whimper. “No one can hear you no matter how loud you yell. I don’t want to hurt you. Well, maybe that’s a little bit of a lie. But I won’t drop you anymore if you give me what I want.”

“Yes,” he manages between sobs. “Yes, okay, yes. I—I don’t know … you said a—girl?”

“I’m not giving you her name,” I say, wagging a finger at him—naughty. “Then you could find her yourself, punish her and her family for what I did to you. Plus I know you don’t know them by name. There were too many of them. Probably weren’t even people to you.”

Despite the pain Bobby is in, his frustration is obvious in his voice. “How can I help you find someone if you don’t tell me their name?” he cries out.

“I need the password to your laptop,” I say. “The one that was locked in the trunk of your Lexus.”

Bobby pauses, his mind darting around like a bat in a cave trying to find an exit. I take a step toward the winch and its release clamp, and Bobby sings out a twelve-digit alphanumeric code, which I commit to memory.

“Okay, you got it,” Bobby says. Tears stream from his eyes, snot from his nose. “Now get me out of this thing. Please.”