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it. But it would have been nice if he could have given me a day or two to carry on before he came back to beg for forgiveness.
    The door shook again. Wow. Geoff was in fine form. Horatio emitted a little squeak and gave up on hiding under the sofa. He scuttled around behind it. So now he was scared of Geoff? Puh-leeze . . .
    I walked to the door and wrenched it open, saying with magnificent outrage, “Geoff, you wimp! You couldn’t wait ’til tomorrow?”
    This was wasted. The doorway was black. Why was this? This was because a very large person of muscular persuasion was blocking my view of the moon and the streetlights. What made his large appearance even more disturbing was that he was wearing a black ski mask over his face. Nice people do not make visits so garbed.

Size Twenty Blues
    â€œLu Malone?” he said. His voice sounded like a tuba in terrorist mode.
    â€œNever heard of him,” I said coolly, and closed the door. Well, I would have closed the door if his size twenty foot hadn’t been in the way. In the background, I heard Horatio whimper, which was embarrassing, considering his size and fame. But I couldn’t address self-empowerment issues with Horatio right now. I was more concerned with my uninvited visitor.
    He pushed his way in. I told my feet to stand their ground, but the rest of me backed up, and my feet followed. He looked at me slowly for a moment. Uh-oh. All I could see were his eyes. I was suddenly reminded of a borderline porn film I had turned down years ago. Too much sex and violence. Speaking of violence . . .
    He put his hand on my chest (I was amazed to discover that one of his hands covered both of my key areas) and pushed. I fell backwards onto my peach loveseat and struggled to get up again. No luck.
    Loverboy put a foot on my stomach. I thought I was going to be sick. But how could I? His size twenty was blocking my breath.
    Then—finally—Horatio got into it. I knew there was a reason I was paying more for his dog food than for my own meals. He whooshed past me, and I knew he was going to make Mr. Size Twenty Black Mask sorry he had ever pushed me around. I closed my eyes and waited for the mayhem.
    When I looked up, Horatio had plastered himself to Mr. Size Twenty, and was slobbering all over him.
    â€œHi, big guy,” said Mr. Size Twenty to Horatio, his foot still planted on my stomach. I was amazed he could keep his balance, what with Horatio hanging on to his neck. “What’s your name, big boy?” Horatio didn’t answer, of course. He was mooshing all over the guy, and the creep looked as if nobody had ever shown him a kind word or slobber before. I felt increasingly ill—partly because Horatio, that big bum of a dog, had shown himself to be a turncoat, willing to fling himself at anybody, but mostly because this wasn’t promising.
    I tried anyway. I had faith in the loyalty of dogs. “Horatio, attack! Attack!”
    Mr. Size Twenty and Horatio just ignored me. They had found each other.
    I couldn’t breathe. The foot was getting heavier on my stomach. Maybe because Mr. Twenty was having trouble keeping his balance, I thought hopefully.
    Mr. Size Twenty pulled his eyes away from Horatio and looked at me.
    â€œJust tell me where it is, ma’am.”
    Ma’am??? Ma’am??? This monster was calling me ma’am? It had been a long day, but I didn’t look that old.
    He took my silence for reticence, not righteous offense. The shoe got heavier on my stomach.
    â€œOuch!” I said.
    He released a bit of pressure.
    â€œWhere is it?”
    â€œWhat? Where is what?” What was he talking about? Did he think I had diamonds in a wall safe? Ha ha ha. Everything decent was pawned months ago .
    â€œLook, sister—” That was better. He sounded like something out of an old gangster movie, but at least I was in a marginally better age group.
    â€œI don’t have any good jewellery, just