“All I know”—Stick hit redial on the touch pad—“is we need to get the fuck out of here.”

“Hola, esto es Lupe. Any messages? What do you mean wrong number? Who called? Guillermo? I told that cocksucker to stop screwing my chickens.” And he hung up and giggled.

Dan propped his head on the corner of Stick’s clean laundry pile. “We should have rented a movie or something before we came home.”

“Yeah, sorry.” Stick felt bad. They were stuck in the house and missing the rest of the crew cruising down to Deep Ellum.

“It’s okay. Let’s do the survey one. C’mon.”

“I dare you to call Cady Bloom with the survey.”

“Nope.” I can’t talk to a girl in front of an audience, even if it’s Sticky.

“Don’t be a chickenshit, Malone.”

“Okay, wait, let me do a quick one to build up to it.” Dan leafed through the pages of Southwestern Bell and picked a number.

“Hey, man, it’s me, I got rid of the body. Now here’s what I need you to do. Shit . . . didn’t work.”

“I’m looking up the Blooms.” Sticky started flipping to the B’s in Dallas proper.

“Stop, I’m not ready.” I need a distraction, Dan thought. “Do you guys have like a liquor cabinet or anything?”

“Mom threw it all out when . . .” Stick didn’t finish that thought but kept looking for the Blooms’ number. “Here they are. They live on Joyce Way? Fancy schmancy Preston Hollow. I’m dialing.”

“No!” But Dan was coming around on it. It would be fun to prank her. Not the worst excuse to call.

They wrestled for the phone, struggling quietly so as not to wake up the little bears in their beds in the next room. Stick eventually got his foot in perfect position for a groin shot. Dan called mercy before Stick racked him.

“Call your girlfriend, playboy.”

“She’s not my . . . I’m doing Chinese delivery instead.”

“No, do the survey.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

Dan dialed, and Cady’s mother answered with an East Texas cackle.

“Hello, is there a Cady Bloom present at your domicile?”

Somehow that brought the girl to the phone. On second thought, this is the stupidest . . . too late. Dan covered the receiver with a washcloth and used his best bored, bureaucratic voice.

“Uh, yes . . . good evening, Miss Bloom, I’m Noman Clature calling on behalf of the United Coalition for the Prevention of Tragedy and was wondering if you had a couple minutes this evening to discuss some issues important to all Americans.”

“Who is this?”

“Yes, the coalition is a part of the Walter Mondale Achievement Institute. Let me ask you, Miss Bloomer, are you the person in your household who does the majority of the shopping?”

“Uh, no.”

“Excellent, the next question is about baloney. How often do you use coupons when purchasing sandwich meats?”

“Who is this?”