Over the phone came the rumble of traffic, and Shaw asked, “Where are you?”

“Sitting on I-44. It’s a parking lot.”

“With the windows down?”

“It’s a beautiful day.”

“Did sexy UPS guy get any packages?”

“You’re such an asshole sometimes.”

“It’s just, you know, some guys’ packages need to be handled with care.”

“Ok, Shaw.”

“Sexy UPS guy should probably wear . . . protection if he’s going to handle strange guys’ packages.”

“I was trying to get information. I wasn’t filming a fucking porno.” A horn blared in the background, and then North’s voice faded, and Shaw could tell he was speaking to someone else. “Sorry. I’m sorry about that.”

“Who was that?”

“That,” North said in a furious whisper, “was a fucking busload of nuns, and they’ve got all their windows down because it’s a fucking beautiful day. So thank you very much for that, Shaw.”

“What did you find out?”

“Nothing.”

“Sexy UPS guy didn’t—”

“If you say one more thing about accepting packages or delivering packages or special deliveries or—”

“Contents under pressure?”

North made a tiny, strangled noise on the other end of the phone.

“Nobody’s going to trust you with their package if you sound like that.”

For a few moments, the only noise was the sound of North’s aggravated breathing. Then it smoothed out. North’s voice was still tight, though, when he said, “Mark Sevcik doesn’t work there anymore. He was fired four months ago. The receptionist didn’t really know anything else; it’s a financial investment company that takes up like three floors of the building, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised she didn’t know him personally.”

“Four months ago? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“That’s right when he was in the middle of that weird dom/sub game with Brueckmann, right? It makes sense to me. He probably wasn’t doing well at his job. Sleeping in a doggie kennel would do that.”

“No, it’s not that.” Shaw propped his head in his hand, staring out the window as the street turned purple in the fading light. Somewhere on Gravois a truck backfired, and the loud clap sent a jolt of adrenaline through Shaw. His hand jumped, and he dropped the pencil, and sheets of paper covered with free-association writings and sketches flew into the air. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Nothing. North, something doesn’t feel right. About any of this, to be honest.”

North’s relieved breath whooshed across the mic. “Thank God. I thought you were going to have your head up your ass forever. This whole thing with Matty—”

“What? What about Matty?”

Through the window, Shaw watched a cat jump onto the brick sill. It stretched once, shook its gray head, and then jumped down again, obviously dissatisfied with the perch.

“You go first,” North finally said.

“Mark Sevcik. I don’t get the vibe that he was blackmailing anybody.”

“What? Why?”

“He’s pathetic.”

“That’s not really a reason. Pathetic people can be blackmailers too. It’s America. You can be whatever you want.”