She called again at 3:36. "Hey, Kinsey, me again. Don't you check messages these days? I'm going stir-crazy up here. We really need to talk so give me a buzz when you get in, okay? Otherwise, I can't be responsible for what I do. Ha ha ha. That's a joke... sort of."

At 5:30, she left only her name with a request that I call.

I went into the office Monday morning and buried myself in the work I'd neglected the previous week. I'd read about the parking-lot shootout in the morning paper, and I knew the STPD vice and homicide detectives were working with the gang detail, interviewing witnesses and running down leads. The Santa Teresa gang population tends to be stable, their activities carefully monitored. Periodically, however, gang members from Olvidado, Perdido, and Los Angeles will swing through town, especially on holiday weekends when the homeboys, like everyone else, are hoping for a change of scene. Happily police officers from those communities make the same swing through town so that unbeknownst to the gangbangers, they're still under the watchful eye of the law.

I didn't hear from Reba again until late Monday afternoon, after I arrived home from work. Mercifully she hadn't called the office, where good business practice dictates that I answer the phone. She'd called my apartment twice, leaving a message at noon and then another one at 2:00. She sounded cheerful at the outset but increasingly plaintive as the day wore on. "Kinsey? Yoo hoo! Did you tell me you were going out of town or something? Don't think so, but I really can't remember for sure. I'm sorry to be such a pest, but Beck's back in town and I'm antsy as hell. I really don't know how much longer I can hold out. I'm on my way to Holloway's to pee in a jar and shoot the shit with her. Then I'm supposed to go to an AA meeting, but I'm thinking I might skip. Too depressing, you know? Anyway, call me when you get this. Hope everything's okay. Bye."

It was hard to leave her hanging when I'd been so available to her the week before. I felt like a mother cow separated from her calf – I could hear Reba's bleating cries, but I wasn't free to respond. I'd been serious when I promised Cheney I'd keep my distance, at least until the situation was under control. Once she'd talked to Vince and his pals, I could reassess. By then, of course, she might well have severed our relationship.

In the meantime, I heard nothing from Cheney, a silence I ascribed to his being up to his ears in work. To avoid the silence, I left the apartment and headed over to see Henry. I tapped on the frame and he motioned me in. He had his heavy-duty mixer on the counter, a ten-pound sack of bread flour, yeast packets, sugar, salt, and water at the ready.

"Can you put up with company?"