A hand, strong from years of handling dead weight, closes on a fistful of Rose’s blouse. Buttons pop, hitting the wall with tiny snicks. Dangling from the nurse’s fist, Rose scrabbles madly in the tote. There is only a single item in it, but she can’t find the wretched thing what with the Goddess of War flipping her back and forth like a rag doll.

Eddie finally gets the message and comes pounding menacingly from behind the ficus tree, his boots whomping on the tile.

Rose gets hold of the revolver and drags it out, the tote flopping from her arm by one trapped handle. “Freeze!” she pipes. Karen doesn’t loosen her hold or notice the gun. She only has eyes for Eddie and his mask. Rose is jerked back and forth as the nurse sways on her feet.

Eddie looms.

Karen’s fingers loose. Rose staggers back a couple of steps. Steadying the revolver in both hands, she aims at the nurse’s center mass.

Mouth angular and wild like one of the horses Rose remembers from Guernica in the Museum of Modern Art, Karen sucks in air through her nostrils.

“Not a peep,” Rose warns. “You know what I’m capable of. You know I’m not a poster child for sanity.” The woman doesn’t look as impressed as Rose would like, but she doesn’t say anything either.

“Back,” Rose orders. The woman doesn’t move. Eddie makes a sound like the howl of a basso profundo ghost. Karen steps back, hands held partway up, more in a warding gesture than one of surrender. She backs into the unit, Rose and Eddie following. The door slides shut behind them.

“Sit on the sofa,” Rose commands. Karen sits. It occurs to Rose that she should have said “floor” or, better yet, “Spread-eagle, hands behind your head,” but it is too late to change tactics.

Karen opens her mouth to speak.

“Not a peep!” Rose repeats and thumbs the hammer back. There is a satisfying metallic click. “Third room on your right,” she reminds Eddie. The Trump mask nods, eerily appropriate for a criminal enterprise.

“What in God’s name do you want?” Karen whispers. She sounds near tears. “You come back and back like herpes. For what?”

“You’re peeping,” Rose says, trying to sound dangerous.

Eddie reappears half dragging a confused, pajama-clad Chuck. Chuck’s hair is standing on end like a rooster’s comb. His face is blank of affect, but for points of fear in his pale eyes.

“Don’t—” Karen starts.

Eddie growls and whuffs. He is under strict orders not to speak, not to do anything that will make him one iota more identifiable than he has to be. The muted roar is effective. Karen subsides. “Toss me your badge,” Rose orders her captive. For a second she thinks the nurse is going to refuse. Rose shoves the revolver a bit closer.