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side a glass-repair shop, both closed at night. Angelo liked privacy.
    “Wait here,” Angelo said. He got out and walked over to the laundry-room door at the side of the house, unlocking it. Sparky was waiting on the steps but knew not to enter the house.
    “What is this place?” the girl said to Bianchi.
    “This is a satellite police station.”
    Bianchi looked around at Angelo, who was holding the screen door and motioning for him to come ahead. “Slide over,” he said to the girl. He grabbed her purse, took her elbow, helped her out of the car, and walked her into the house. Angelo secured the deadbolt again, as Bianchi guided the girl into the living room and sat her down in the brown vinyl easy chair. He put her purse on the dining-room table. Angelo switched on some lights and approached the girl.
    “Now you just sit there and don’t move. We’ll be right back.”
    In the kitchen with Bianchi, Angelo said: “How do you want to do this? Everything’s perfect so far. We want to do this right. No screw-ups.” He reached under the sink and brought out a roll of masking tape about three inches wide. “We should blindfold her. That way, if she tries to run, she won’t know where to go. Wait a minute. I got an idea. Go back in there and watch her. I got stuff in my shop.”
    Bianchi stood over the girl. She stared at the fish tank, avoiding his eyes.
    “How old are you?”

    “Fifteen.”
    “That’s pretty young to be whoring, isn’t it?”
    “I’m not. I didn’t do nothing wrong. What is this? This isn’t a police station. Aquarium in a police station?”
    “Shut up,” Bianchi said. “Do what you’re told.” He wondered what Angelo would bring in from the shop. Angelo would know what to do next. “Sit there and shut up. You move, you’ll be sorry.”
    When Angelo returned, he called Bianchi into the kitchen again. From his shop Angelo had retrieved an orange work rag and a brick-sized piece of white, foamy polyester material he used in stuffing car seats. He cut the foamy stuff in half with a pair of scissors and explained that they would put the material over each eye, secure it with tape, stuff the rag into her mouth, and secure that with the tape. It would be a good idea to make sure the masking tape went all the way around her head. “Do you want to do it or do you want me to do it?”
    “You better do it,” Bianchi said.
    “Okay. The best thing to do is, I’ll walk in front of her and you get behind her and put your hands on her shoulders just in case she starts to kick up a fuss, you know, you’ll be ready.”
    They returned to the living room, Angelo holding the materials behind his back. They walked slowly up to her, and Bianchi moved behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders.
    “What’s going on?” the girl said. She tried to rise. Bianchi pressed down. She started to scream.
    “Shut up!” Buono said. “Don’t you say nothing!”
    “Keep quiet,” Bianchi said. She was easy to hold down.
    Angelo produced the orange rag, rolled it into a ball, stuffed it into her mouth, unreeled a length of tape, sealed it over her mouth, and wrapped the tape around her head three times, snipping it off with the scissors and rubbing it flat on the side of her face. Then he brought out the two pieces of foamy stuff and approached her eyes.
    She lowered her head, trying to avoid him. Bianchi shoved her down as she squirmed and tried to rise again.
    “Grab ahold of her forehead!” Angelo said. “Pull her head up!” Bianchi pulled back on her forehead with one hand andyanked back on her hair with the other. Buono pressed the foam onto her eyes and wrapped it with tape, around her head three times. The girl slumped.
    Angelo took the tape back into the kitchen, replaced it under the sink, and put the scissors away in a drawer. He called to Bianchi.
    “You just stay right there,” Bianchi said to the girl.
    “How do you want to do this?” Angelo said. “How do you want to get her