“I’m gonna need you and the kid to stay here with one of the girls while this guy”—he waved his stun gun in my direction—“helps me get that bitch’s money.”

“Why I got to stay here? I need to get something to eat.”

“Fuck, Leo, would you relax? I’ve worked out a deal with the ladies here. You stay here with—which one are you?”

“Ludmilla,” said Ludmilla.

“You stay here with Ludmilla.”

“I could stay,” Gavrilla said. “Why don’t you go back to the restaurant?” she said to her sister.

“I already said I would stay,” Ludmilla said. “Didn’t I, Mom?”

Mrs. Gorkin wasn’t going to tolerate this for a minute. “Gavrilla, you come with me. Ludmilla, you stay, make sure this man stay till this man here comes back with the money. Here.” She handed Ludmilla her gun.

“Hey,” said Leo. “What’s she need a gun for?”

“To shoot you,” Gary said offhandedly. “If you try to leave before I get back with the money.”

“Oh,” said Leo.

Ludmilla took the gun and ran the barrel down the side of Leo’s arm. “Don’t worry, honey. It just keeps everyone honest.”

“I guess,” Leo said. “Why do I have to keep the kid?”

Katie had gone over to our couch, sat down. She looked ahead vacantly. I wondered whether she was in some sort of shock.

“Look at her,” Merker said. “How much trouble can she be?”

“Well, okay. How long you going to be?”

“I don’t know. That depends on shithead here,” he said, pointing at me. “You gotta get us into that jail to see what’s-her-face. You know her as Trixie, right?”

“Yes,” I said.

“So start setting it up.”

“How on earth am I supposed to do that?”

Merker shrugged. “Maybe you should figure something out. If you can’t, we can always have some fun with the kid.”

I swallowed. “Let me think,” I said. Trixie had mentioned the name of her lawyer when she’d been arrested at the Bennet farmhouse. I closed my eyes, tried to think of it. It had something to do with a dog. Something dogs do. Not bite, not sniff, not—

Wag. Wagland. Niles Wagland.

“I have an idea,” I said. “I can call her lawyer. Maybe he can get me in. Let me go check on the computer, I can probably find an office number online—” I stopped myself. “No.”

“What?” asked Merker. “What do you mean, no?”

I tilted my head toward Mrs. Gorkin. “She kind of disabled my computer.”

“What the fuck did you do that for?” Merker asked her.

Mrs. Gorkin, untroubled by Merker’s attacks, shrugged. “Computer was bad.”

“I can check the phone book,” I said. Merker followed me into the kitchen, where I pulled a thick Yellow Pages out of a cupboard below the phone. I thumbed through the pages until I found dozens of pages for law offices.