Loewe, I think he was that little queer back then—”
“Didn’t know you knew him,” Olms said.
“I knew who he was; some of the women thought he was queer . . . and Flowers is telling me all these things. Rouse? Rouse’s daughter, riding around with people? Does that mean anything?”
“Ah, shit,” Einstadt said. “Who’s talking to him?”
“I think he’s talked to a lot of neighbors.”
“If he’s asking about the Rouses, we got a problem,” Olms said. “Greta Rouse has been serviced by everybody in the Spirit. If they get hold of them—”
“We gotta get back,” Rooney said. “We need a meeting tonight. With everybody. We gotta call Emmett, right now.”
Einstadt looked at Gordon for a moment, then said, “We got a friend who’s going to stay with you overnight. Just to make sure you don’t go talking to cops until we can have our meeting.”
“You’re not staying here,” Gordon said. She had pulled enough out of the three men that she expected Virgil to burst into the living room. She wanted to look back toward the open bedroom door, but didn’t.
“We’re not. But you remember Kathleen Spooner?” Einstadt asked. “She’ll be here in a few minutes. She’s gonna stay with you. We don’t have time to fuck around, Birdy. So we’ll bring Kathleen in, and tomorrow morning, we’ll have figured out what we’re gonna do, and she’ll be gone.”
“I’m not—”
“We’re not asking,” Olms snapped. “We’re telling you.” And he reached out and slapped her hard, and she staggered and almost fell: still did not look at the bedroom door, although she was now murderously angry, and it showed. Olms smiled at her: “You remember that, don’t you?”
“Fuck you,” she hissed, but she moved away from him, her shoulders hunched, one hand up to deflect another slap.
Einstadt went to the door and waved at the truck, and Gordon wondered where Virgil was.
VIRGIL, in the closet, clicked the radio a couple of times, which meant, “Wait.” Gordon had gotten more out of the men than he could have hoped for. But with Spooner—he wanted Spooner, too.
SPOONER CAME across the porch steps and inside. “What?”
“It’s worse than we thought,” Rooney said. “We need to call a general meeting and get back. You’ve got to babysit.”
Spooner showed her teeth to Gordon: “I can do that. We’ll get along fine.”
“I don’t want you here,” Gordon said.
“Tough shit,” Spooner said.
Einstadt said to Spooner, “You know what we talked about. The Flowers guy is all over her.”
Spooner nodded and said, “Okay.”
“We’re going,” Rooney said, and they tramped out, and as he went through the door, Olms turned and said, “You never were any good.”
THEY WERE GONE, Einstadt pulling the door shut behind him, and still no Virgil.
Gordon faced Spooner and said, “I don’t want you here. And to tell you the truth, when those men are gone, I’m going to throw you out of here. You might as well go peacefully . . . you’re just making me madder and madder.”
Spooner said, “We’re just going to sit down and relax for a while.”
“No, we’re not. I’m telling you—”
Gordon took a step forward and Spooner lifted a hand out of her jacket pocket and showed her a gun, a compact .45. She said, “You’re not telling me anything.”
Gordon said, “She’s got a gun. She’s got a gun.”
Spooner, confused, asked, “Who’re you talking to?”
From the front bedroom door, Virgil said, “Me. I’m aiming a pistol at your head, Miz Spooner. If you even start to move the gun, I’m going to kill you.”
From the kitchen door, Jenkins said, “And if he misses, I won’t.”
Spooner stood stricken for a minute, then realized, and said, “Oh, my God.”
“It’s all done,” Virgil said. “Stoop down, lay the gun on the floor, and then we need to talk. You’ve still got a chance.”
She put the gun on the floor and stood up, and Virgil and Jenkins moved her to a wall and patted her down, and Jenkins put the cuffs on. Spooner said to Gordon, “Birdy, how could you—”
“Eh, not Birdy,” Gordon said, with a smile. “You can refer to me as Louise.”
Virgil put his arm around Gordon’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “You were so good.”
Jenkins said, “You were so good you made me laugh.”
Shrake came in the side door and asked, “Are we taking them on the highway?”
“We gotta figure that out,” Virgil said.
Shrake said to Gordon, “You can work with me anytime. That was prime rib.”
Gordon was pleased and flustered, and said, “I missed my calling. I should have