"Hurts. Help me up and let's see if I can sit up without passing out or puking." She held my outstretched hand and eased me into an upright position. I pushed the blanket aside and placed my other hand on the bed table for stability. It really wasn't as bad as I'd thought.

"You're not planning to go anywhere, I hope."

"Not until I know what kind of shape I'm in. You ever see those guys before?"

She hesitated. "I think so. In the pickup truck on the way down from Reno. They're probably Salustio's goons. Beck must have told him I took his twenty-five grand."

"But why snatch Marty? He had nothing to do with it."

"I don't know what's going on. Shit, I wish I'd never told Marty the feds were closing in. All that did was scare him into running. He'd have been better off if he were under arrest. At least he'd be safe."

"What about the claim check he gave you? What was that about?"

She blinked. "I don't know. I'd forgotten about that." She rooted through her bag, pulled it out, and turned it over in her hand. "Hotel luggage claim. I should talk to the bell captain and see what this is. Will you be okay? It shouldn't take me long."

"Sure. Why don't you wait for me downstairs? As soon as I've talked to the cops, I'll meet you in the lobby."

She said, "Great."

I waited until she was gone and then made my way into the bathroom, where I washed my face and ran my head under the faucet to wash away the dried blood that was matted in my hair. I took a bath towel and blotted gingerly until the strands were dry enough to comb. Really, I was doing better than I'd expected, now that I was on my feet.

By the time the uniformed beat officer arrived, I was sitting in a chair, feeling somewhat restored. He was a clean-cut fellow in his twenties with a serious demeanor and a slight, disarming lisp. I repeated what I knew, watching him scribble in his notebook. We went over the sequence of events until he seemed satisfied that he'd wrung as much from me as I was able to remember. I gave him my Santa Teresa address and my phone number, as well as Cheney's. He gave me a card and said I could request a copy of the crime report if I wrote to the Records Section, though it would take about ten days for processing.

Once the door closed behind him, I slipped on my shoes. Bending down to tie the laces was not a happy occasion, but I managed it. I found my shoulder bag and let myself out into the hall, then located the bank of elevators and went down.