“What’s my name?” he asked her.

It didn’t come immediately. She frowned and blinked her broken brown eyes, then uttered, softly, “Luke.”

“Luke. Yeah. And who am I to you?”

“You are the cradle.”

Tears pricked the backs of his eyes and he might have held them back, except she sang, distantly, but with a soulfulness that hadn’t been touched: “Some dreams are found where the lows don’t go, this is the cradle that rocks my soul.” This brought back all the feelings—every last one—and his tears fell brightly, as heavy as coins on his face.

“It’s going to be okay,” he sniffled. “I promise you.”

Kitty returned with a first-aid kit, painkillers, and a cold compress wrapped in a thin towel. “This will help with the bleeding,” she said to Ramón. She placed the compress on top of his head, then gestured for the redhead to hold it in place. “Give him these,” Kitty said, and shook three Advil into her palm. “I don’t want my hand anywhere near his mouth.”

“You take any of those?” Luke asked as Kitty tended to him.

“Two,” she replied. “I’m fine. A little bruised up, is all.”

“You saved my life out there,” he said.

“I’m getting used to it.”

Luke dry-swallowed two Advil while Kitty cleaned and dressed his arm.

“It’ll do for now,” she said, “but you’ll probably need a tetanus booster. Those dogs were filthy.”

He nodded gratefully, looked at Lisa, then switched his focus to Ramón. “My friend is kinder than I am. But then, you didn’t kidnap her loved one and ruin her fucking life.”

Ramón exhaled tiredly. The redhead held the cold pack to his head and whispered, “Baby, oh, baby,” into his ear. In the background, yet a thousand miles away, the TV switched from Friends to Frasier. Both Latinas watched it. One of them—zero-eyed—hadn’t looked at Luke once. A crust of saliva circled her mouth.

“Let’s keep it going,” Luke said. He kicked the bottom of the green sofa between Ramón’s legs, making him jump. “What happened after Lisa took the prototype?”

Lisa looked down at her bare feet, twisting her hands together. Ramón cleared his throat and winced.

“Baby, oh, baby—”

“Shut the fuck up, Christine,” Ramón barked, and she did—her mouth snapping closed, as if pulled by a string.

He sighed, either with relief or pain, and resumed talking.

He kept his eye on her. That’s what he said. Lisa went to the ladies’ room and came out after seven or eight minutes. She caught Ramón’s eye, nodded, then started talking to one of her music-industry friends.