“Gary Merker, this is Mrs. Gorkin, and her daughters Ludmilla and Gavrilla, and they run the Burger Crisp across town, and it seems that if they haven’t come here to kill me, they certainly intend to cause me a great deal of harm. And ladies, this is Gary Merker, who’s trying to unload a bunch of stun guns to the police, and who also seems bent on doing me some sort of harm too.” I took a breath. “I guess you’ll have to fight over me.”

“What do you want with him?” Merker asked Mrs. Gorkin.

“He had file. We come to get it.”

“What fucking file?”

“About health inspection.”

“Health inspection?” Merker said. “What fucking health inspection?” He was twitching his nose about, like it itched. He stuck a pinky finger in one of his nostrils, dug around a bit.

Mrs. Gorkin looked taken aback by Merker’s blatant display of nasal inspection. It was nice to know that even she had standards. “You don’t know about dat?”

“Lady, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” He pulled out his finger, examined what was stuck to the end of it, and wiped it on his trousers.

“Den why are you here?”

“Because this son of a bitch”—he pointed down at me—“is going to help me get back some money that was stole from me.”

“Dat’s too bad, because we’re taking him with us,” Mrs. Gorkin said.

“Why do you need him?” Merker said.

“Because we have to make sure he make no more trouble for us,” Mrs. Gorkin said.

That didn’t sound good. I was wondering whether I should start rooting for Merker, who had his finger back in his nose to get what he missed the first time.

“You shouldn’t shoot my daughter like that,” she said. “What that thing?”

“It’s just a stun gun,” Merker said. “She’ll be fine. Be glad I didn’t use my real gun on her. And Jesus Christ, lady, you nearly shot me with that thing.” He was pointing at Mrs. Gorkin’s weapon. “That some sort of Soviet piece? Looks kinda different.”

Mrs. Gorkin didn’t answer him. She was helping Ludmilla get up.

Gavrilla said, “Maybe we can work something out. What’s this money you got stolen from you?”

Merker thought a moment. “This guy knows someone stole some money from me, and I think if he talks to her for me, I can get it back.”

“There’s nothing I can do for you,” I said.

“Really? According to the news, you know Candace, or Trixie or Miranda or whoever the fuck she is this week, very well. Went all the way up to farm country to try to get her to come back before the cops got her. Am I right?”

I nodded wearily.