“That’s a popular name here, too,” Tatiana said.

“How would you describe him?” Arkady asked Tommy.

“Big, good-looking, friendly.”

“Does he speak Russian?” Tatiana asked.

“I don’t know. He only spoke German around me,” Tommy said.

Benz was such a nebulous creature, nothing but a name on a registration form in Moscow and on a letter in Munich, that Arkady found himself relieved to meet anyone who might have met the man in the flesh.

“Why would he speak Russian?” Arkady asked.

“The Boris I’m thinking of is very international,” Marina said. “I’m only saying that his Russian is very good.”

“He’s German,” Tatiana said.

“You haven’t been to bed with him.”

“Neither have you.”

“Tima was. She commented on it.”

“ ‘Commented on it’?” Tatiana affected a prissy accent.

“We’re friends.”

“What a cow. I’m sorry,” Tatiana added when she saw that Marina was hurt. She told Arkady, “He’s a Polish sausage, what can I tell you?”

“Is Tima here?”

“No, but I can describe her to you,” Tatiana said. “Red, four-wheel drive, also answers to the name ‘Bronco.’ ”

“I know where she means,” Tommy said, excited to get back into the conversation. “It’s right down the road. I’ll take you.”

“I wish you did have money,” Tatiana told Arkady. Under the circumstances he thought it was the biggest compliment he could expect.

A dozen Jeeps, Troopers, Pathfinders and Land Cruisers sat in a highway turnout, a prostitute waiting behind the wheel of each car. Clients parked on the shoulder to shop. Once a price was set, the woman turned off the red lamp that announced her availability, the client climbed in and they drove to the far side of the turnout, away from the passing lights of the road. Twenty off-the-road vehicles stood there already, on the verge of a black field.

Tommy and Arkady walked by the lit cars and then down the center of the turnout, stepping aside as a Trooper eased by. Tommy was becoming a more eager guide all the time. “They worked out of camping trailers in the city until residents complained about the late-night traffic. There’s less visual impact here. They’re safe; doctors check them once a month.”

The back windows of the far cars all had drawn curtains. A Jeep jiggled from side to side as if it were running in place.

“What does a Bronco look like?” Arkady asked.

Tommy pointed out one of the larger models, but it was blue. They were all high off the ground, what a person would want to set off across the tundra in.

“What do you think?” Tommy asked.

“They all look good.”

“I mean the women.”

Arkady caught a different drift. “Tommy, what do you really mean?”

“I mean, I could lend you some money.”

“No, thanks.”

Tommy shifted from foot to foot, then held out his car keys. “Do you mind?”

“You’re serious?” Arkady asked.