“It was goddamn stupid, was what it was,” Jim interrupted. “Jesus Christ, Robby—”

“I know, I know. Look, um—Velvet—you got to understand, you can’t come here. That guy, the one in the suit, he’s looking for you. He doesn’t like loose ends. You understand me? You don’t know what you’re screwing around with here.”

“Sure I do,” Velvet said indifferently. She walked over to the sofa, prodded it with an experimental finger, and plopped down. She stacked her ankles on the coffee table and admired her shoes. “He looks so much like a wiseguy, he must be fishbelly low on the food chain. Anyway, I pay my dues through Ming, he can’t touch me. Sit down. Come on, sit. Let’s have a drink.”

“No. You’re leaving, now.” Robby grabbed a slick satin fistful of coat; Velvet yanked free with a glare.

“Hey, watch the merchandise. No way, honey, you and me got things to talk about. See, we had a real nice time drinking your friend’s vodka, but you never did tell me about your guy. The one who burned.” Her face lost some of its hard edge. “Come on, Robby. Please. I need this, I really do, and then I’m out of here. Out of your hair for good. Please.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Then it won’t take too fucking long. Hey—buddy—can I have a beer or something? No hard stuff. Thanks.” Velvet patted the armchair and smiled. “Come on, Robby. Spill.”

“That’s it,” Jim growled, and leaned over to muscle the hooker to her feet. She twisted like a cat, slapped him hard, wiggled out of his grip and stood there glaring.

Jim, for just a second, looked like he might go after her. Robby put a hand on his shoulder and felt muscles twitching under his skin. “You want to know so bad, here it is—Deep Ellum. Loft apartment. I was supposed to collect some stuff from the guy and there was this—this smell.” She looked over at the hooker, who nodded; she knew it, too. “I just looked in the window. He was on the kitchen floor. Smears of blood and black stuff all over the table, the wall, the refrigerator. His skin was black, and cracked; pink in between. I didn’t see it happen. I don’t know anything.”

“When? When did it happen?”

“Seven months ago.”

“This guy, was he, you know, in the trades? Connected?”

Robby looked at Jim and didn’t answer. He avoided her eyes. The hooker’s gaze skipped from her face to his, then back again.

“Ah, hell, you think the big guys are in it, don’t you? Cleaning up, or something.”

“You’ve heard it. Get the hell out,” Jim said.