“Give him minute, Momma,” said one of the twins.

I had a moment now to take them all in. The three of them standing there, looking like a trio of line-backers without the helmets. All short and squat and one of them getting on a bit in years, but no less threatening than the other two. Mrs. Gorkin, gray hair brushed back, hooknosed, a bit of hair on her upper lip, wore a drab dress that would have showed its grease stains to more advantage if it weren’t black.

The twins, both around five feet, about four hundred pounds between them, had short, bristly blonde hair. They were both in jeans, one in a red sweater, the other in blue.

I sat up, waved a finger at the twins. “So, who’s who here?”

The one in the red sweater said, “I am Ludmilla.”

The one in the blue sweater said, “I am Gavrilla.”

Ludmilla said, “We are twins.”

I nodded. “Ludmilla. Gavrilla.” I turned and looked at their mother. “And Mrs. Gorkin. Nice to see you again.” I took another breath. “I’d just like to say, right now, that I’m really, really sorry about what happened at your place the other day. My son, he seemed to think there might be something wrong with the burgers, and some people heard us talking, and, well, you know the rest. So I can totally understand you being upset about that. Believe me, if I had it to do all over again, I’d just forget about it.”

Mrs. Gorkin said, “We are not here about dat.”

I feigned bafflement. “Well, I don’t suppose you’re here to offer my son his job back.”

Mrs. Gorkin said, “Stop being stupid!”

“I’m not trying to be stupid. I’m just trying to figure out what it is you want.” I’d always thought playing dumb came naturally to me, but Mrs. Gorkin didn’t seem to be buying it.

“Momma wants the file,” said Ludmilla.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. The thing is, I didn’t care if they had the file. I was more worried about what they might do to me if they knew I’d heard it.

“The man,” said Gavrilla. “The man who was going to talk to you. He sent a file to you. That you could hear.”

“Where is computer?” Mrs. Gorkin asked.

“My computer?” I said. “It’s up in my study. Upstairs. Help yourself to it.” It wasn’t like I had a nearly finished novel sitting in it. Cart it away, I thought.

“Upstairs,” Mrs. Gorkin said, “you take us.”