Ted stepped forward and followed her into the building. She stopped, whirled around, and began vigorously shooing him out in a language with a lot more consonants than vowels. He held up his hands to show he meant no harm, but she began to screech. Ted couldn’t understand a word of it, but the message was clear. She kept up the attack until he was outside on the stoop again, at which point she stopped, rustled through the deep folds of black cloth around her, and handed him a prayer card. Then she slammed the door closed. With him outside.

St. Matthias the Apostle. Patron saint of drunks. The replacement for Judas, the first apostle to be chosen by lottery. His feast day was coming up. The prayer was a knockoff of the AA prayer about fixing things and serenity. Ted stuck the card in his pocket.

At that moment, the door punched him in the back, and he staggered, almost going down. A teenage boy in typical street uniform of hoodie, ball cap, and oversized jeans pushed past Ted and jogged out to the street.

He was gone before Ted had a chance to protest. He grabbed the closing door before the latch caught. He was in.

“Who is that?”

Ted knocked loud and often, keeping the other hand over the peephole so his face would remain hidden for as long as possible. Either Cheryl Rubiano had been fast asleep, or she had a tremendous ability to ignore routine cacophony

“We need to talk,” he said, and rapped again. The door across the hall opened a crack and immediately slammed shut. “Come on, you’re bothering everybody on the floor.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said.

So she recognized his voice. He removed his hand from the peephole. He was now free to knock with both fists. Bam. Bam. Bam. It was a good door for banging on. Resonant. Tympanic.

“Stop that or I call the cops.”

“And I’ll tell them I work for you,” he said.

“You’re fired.”

“I came here to quit. All I want is some answers. I’ll give you your money back.”

No answer. Was she thinking it over, or had she gone for a gun?

“What the hell do you want to know?” she said. He was wearing her down.

“I think we’d both be more comfortable discussing this inside rather than through the door,” Ted said, slathering on a calm, reasoned, confidential manner.

Five seconds ticked by. Plenty of time to make a decision. He raised a fist, prepared to bang on the door once more, and heard the top lock click. The door swung open.