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was holding my breath against the ammonia smell of him. “Come
with me to Teddy’s room and we’ll talk.” Maybe I was a coward, but
this way there would be a witness to whatever happened. A witness
with a drug problem and a rap sheet, no doubt, but if I got my head
blown off, his priors would be the DA’s concern, not mine.
    He started to open his mouth, no doubt meaning to tell all the details
of his case, but I shushed him. We went to the door and I listened. A
soft flurry of movement in the room made me hesitate, standing frozen
with my hand on the knob. Then my heart started to beat again, and
I pushed open the door.
    The room was very dim. For a long, panicked moment I was defenseless,
exposed; then she lifted her hand, and my eyes adjusted enough
for me to make out a small Asian woman with bleached-blonde hair
sitting up in bed as if she’d just awakened. I flooded with relief. She
wore an oversize green USF T-shirt, and her legs were covered by the
sheet. Her eyes were bleary, as if she’d been sleeping or crying. But
if I’d awakened her I hadn’t managed to surprise her. In her hand,
pointed at me, was a gun.
    “Come in out of the hallway and close the door,” she said in a voice
that might have belonged to a child.
    I came in, holding the door open behind me for my friend and
guardian, but the dreadlocked man now had vanished as suddenly and
soundlessly as if he’d been there only in my mind.
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought this was Teddy Maxwell’s room.”
    “Take the key out of the lock and close the door.” She had a heavy
accent that I couldn’t place.
    I did what she said, pocketing the key and latching the door behind
me.
    Like the other rooms this one contained only a twin bed with a
thin mattress, a dresser, a wardrobe, and a small desk. It was all cheap,
battered, and grimy. She swung her legs to the floor, pulling the blanket
around herself. It was the third time in my life I’d had a gun pointed
at me. The other two had been muggings. This was the first occasion
when I couldn’t be sure what the person with the gun wanted.
    “I’m Leo Maxwell,” I said. “Teddy’s brother.”
    She didn’t say anything. She went on pointing the gun, relaxing her
body forward so that her elbows rested on her knees.
    “The cops are two floors up investigating an ax murder. You shoot,
they’ll be here in thirty seconds.”
    She thumbed down the hammer.
    “Point taken,” I said.
    The silence began to drag, and I spoke again. “I hate to be the
one to say it, but this is starting to feel pretty awkward. Usually these
situations work more smoothly if the person holding the gun sort of
takes the lead.”
    “Are you holding the gun?”
    “Clearly not. Otherwise we would be talking about what I want to
talk about. About who you are and what you’re doing curled up with
that nine in my brother’s bed.”
    “Maybe you should take your own advice and shut the fuck up,
since I’m the one holding this and I don’t really feel like talking.”
    Her aggression was only at the surface. These were just the words
that came out, and I felt it gave her neither pleasure nor displeasure
to speak them.
    “It wasn’t advice, exactly. It was more in the way of a general observation.
There are exceptions to every rule, even where guns are
concerned. I could try to guess why you’re here, if you’re not going to
tell me.” I seemed impelled to prattle on. “You don’t look like Teddy’s
type of girlfriend, no offense. So I’m guessing client?”
    A look of involuntary disgust came over her face. “I’m nobody’s
client.” There was a shyness to her now, and maybe pride.
    “I’ve told you my name. Maybe you could tell me yours?”
    “I could tell you but I’d have to kill you,” she said through a yawn.
    “I could come back. We could do this another time, when you’ve
had your rest.”
    She sucked her lower lip and looked at me pensively. “I never heard
Teddy had a brother.”
    “So