From the study, a phone rings. A simple old-school rotary ring. Werth recognizes it: it’s the ring of Mookie’s cell phone. That’s where they threw Mookie’s stuff. Stuff Werth’s supposed to have already gone through, but he hasn’t because… it feels like the final nail in the coffin of his bond with the big lug. He goes into the study, picks up the phone from under the leather satchel Mookie had slung over his shoulder, next to the cleaver–

He answers it. “Who is this?”

On the other end, a female voice: “Who is this?”

She sounds familiar. Her voice tickles some part of his brain–

“You,” he says, suddenly realizing. Skelly. The queen bee of the Get-Em-Girls. The one who ran him through the wringer.

“I want to talk to Mookie.”

“Mookie’s not available.”

“I have something for him.”

Werth stops. Breathes into the phone. Then finally he hurries to the door and shuts it gently. “What kind of something?”

“I’m not telling you that, Werth.” So she knows who he is, too.

“You’re pretending what, I’m the asshole here? I trust you about as far as I can drop-kick you. And since these days I’m basically an old gimp, that ain’t very fucking far.”

“You sent guys to my place to kill us. One of my girls is dead.”

“Guys sent to your place? I didn’t do that.”

“Quit lightin’ up the tilt sign. Your pants are on fire, liar.”

“I’m not–”Again he hears his voice. It’s agitated. Ladled with anger. He tries to calm down but keep the urgency in his voice. “You want the truth? OK. Mookie got busted. He’s here at the Boss’s place chained to a chair and a table because he’s on the hook for Casimir Zoladski’s murder. He probably doesn’t have long before they…” He pictures one of those reaper-cloak shadow-things going to town on him. “He doesn’t have long. So what do you have?”

Silence on the other line. Once upon a time, you’d hear a dial tone, but now – now he’s got to talk into the void. “Hello? Hey. Did you fuckin’ hang up on–”

“I’m here. I know who killed the grandson.”

“Lemme guess. Some handsome prick in a beige suit.”

A pause. “No.”

“Then who is it? And how the hell do you know?”

“We have the ghost of Casimir Zoladski.”

Jesus.

“Who killed him?”

“You can see it for yourself.”

“I can’t… I can’t get out of here. They’ve got me trapped. Just tell me who did it.”

It’s then she tells him the story. Of what she saw. Of what she still sees when she closes her eyes. She tells him the whole story: the naked old man. The surprised grandson. The attack. The chanting.