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you know him. That’s a start. Now we’re getting somewhere.”
    “Teddy’s all right,” she said. Coming from her, this might be a rave review.
By now I’d had a chance to look around, and I’d seen enough to
realize that there was nothing of Teddy in this room, not so much as
a sock wadded under the bed. The door to the wardrobe was open.
    Inside were only a few suit hangers. A bottle of Jim Beam with an inch
of liquor left in the bottom stood on the dresser beside a plastic cup;
another cup held a toothbrush and a travel-size toothpaste.
I didn’t let my attention wander long. She was still holding the gun,
and it was still pointed at me.
    Finally she looked me in the eyes and said, “Who shot him?”
    News traveled pretty fast. “I don’t know.”
    “You were there.” She wagged the gun. “I know you were.”
    “White man. Slicked hair. I didn’t actually see him but that’s what
I heard.” I hesitated, then said, “Maybe you were in on it.”
    She scoffed. “I didn’t shoot Teddy. Don’t be dumb.”
    “Then who did?”
    She gave a laugh. “Teddy doesn’t tell you nothing, does he?”
    I didn’t know how to answer that. “Tell me what?”
    “Nothing, that’s what.”
    “I know you lied to the man behind the desk, told him you were
Teddy’s sister. I’d love to know why you came here.”
    “I never said anything about being his sister.”
    “Or his brother. I don’t know what you said.”
    “You don’t know nothing, do you?” she repeated.
    I sensed that she was beginning to lose interest. I wanted to hold
her attention. “You tell me who shot him, then.”
    “Teddy thinks he’s above it all. Teddy brought it on himself.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “If you don’t know, then I’m not telling you. He’s your brother.
You figure it out.”
    I couldn’t explain that I didn’t really know him, that we’d gone
our own ways after our mother’s death, and that he’d always been a
mystery to me, a silent presence when he was home, but more often
an absence, night after night, week after week. He was supposed to be
my guardian, but the housekeepers he paid to fix my lunches and cook
my dinners were the ones who raised me. He was just a tenant in the
apartment that belonged to neither of us, that was not our home. We
were merely the stranded survivors.
    She tilted her head, seemingly listening for something, still pointing
the gun. Too late I realized what we’d been doing here all this time:
not playing a game after all but waiting for a third person to arrive. I’d
heard whatever she must have heard, footsteps in the hall coming to a
stop outside the door. There was a knock. “Open it,” she said.
    I opened it and found myself face-to-face with a second, much taller
woman, wearing a baggy black hooded sweatshirt and extremely baggy
lowrider men’s jeans held on by a canvas belt. Despite the outfit, one
glance was enough for me to see that she was beautiful, nearly as tall
as I was, with curly dark hair, a slender nose, cleft chin, high narrow
cheekbones, and smooth skin the color of scalded butter. Her face was
thoughtful and serious, with all the stillness and gravity of intelligence.
She had the broad shoulders of an athlete and the compact chest and
waist of a fashion model.
    When she saw me, her eyes narrowed and her delicate nostrils flared.
    “Don’t worry,” the girl on the bed said in a voice purring with
pride. “I’ve got him covered.”
    When she spoke I’d half turned, worrying about the gun. The tall
woman stepped forward, and I turned back to her just in time to see
her hand come up toward my neck with a plastic object clutched in
it, metal prongs glinting in the light from the window, then a blue
crackle. Taser, my mind said, then a thousand teeth ground in my ears,
and I went down.
    I was aware of the women stepping over and around me, of clothes
being pulled hastily on and a cursory search for an object that seemed
not to be there. When I