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clothes off?”
    “I don’t know. I really have no idea. The handcuffs.”
    “Well, the best thing is, if I take the handcuffs off of her. You stand behind her, just in case she decides to fight or take off or whatever.”
    They returned to the girl.
    “Okay, now stand up,” Bianchi said. She tried to obey but lost her balance and fell back into the chair. They each took an elbow and helped her up and away from the chair.
    On a wall opposite her, a plaque, the kind sold in souvenir stores, spelled out in Gay Nineties red lettering: “Please Remove Your Clothes.”
    “All right,” Angelo said. “Now we’re gonna take the handcuffs off of you, and we don’t want you to start nothing. You do, you’re gonna get hurt.” He found the handcuffs key on his keyring and removed them. He pulled off her jacket, walked with it over to the dining area, and dropped it to the floor. A gold-smoked mirrored wall behind the dining-room table reflected the scene. Angelo stared into the mirrored wall and liked what he saw. Everything was working. It was going to be great. In the smoky mirror he watched Bianchi remove her blouse. “Bring that over here,” Angelo said. “Keep everything together.”
    Angelo unhooked her bra as Bianchi placed her blouse on her jacket. “Not much tits,” Angelo said. He rolled up the bra and tossed it to Bianchi. Then he put the handcuffs back on her. “Hey. Tits look better now.”
    Bianchi stood behind her again, holding her upper arms to steady her while Angelo unzipped her pants.
    “Okay now,” Angelo said. “We’ve got you. We’re balancingyou. Just back up and sit down and have a seat.” They eased her back into the chair. Angelo removed her shoes and socks, told her to stand up again, and slid off her pants, telling her to lift one leg at a time. The girl complied. He let her stand there for a moment, nude except for her underpants. Then he pulled off her underpants, smiled up at Bianchi, and gave the okay sign. He put her pants and underpants with the rest of her clothes, returned, and grabbed an arm.
    “Just come with me,” he said. “Don’t worry, honey. I won’t let you run into nothing. I got you so you won’t fall. Don’t worry about nothing.” He led her into the spare bedroom.
    The spare bedroom, on the east side of the house between Angelo’s bedroom and the bathroom, had nothing in it except a single bed. No other furniture, nothing on the walls. The spare bedroom had a simple function. He sat the girl on the bed and told her to lie down on her back, helping her get her legs up. She lay there nude, gagged, blindfolded, handcuffed. “You wait there. Don’t move.”
    Angelo passed through the beading that hung down in place of a door between the spare bedroom and his bedroom. He turned on a light in his room and checked to see if it shone enough into the spare bedroom. Satisfied, he returned to Bianchi.
    “How do we decide who goes first?” Angelo said.
    “I don’t care,” Bianchi said.
    “Okay, we’ll flip a coin.” Angelo dug into his pocket and pulled out a quarter. “Call it.”
    “Tails.”
    Angelo flipped. “It’s heads,” he said. “You got sloppy seconds. You get all her shit together while I’m in there. Put it all on the table. I’ll take care of it when I get done. Take her purse and empty it and leave the stuff on the table. See if there’s any money in there. Go through her pockets.”
    “She’s fifteen. She told me.”
    “Good age.” Angelo grinned. “Real good age.” He disappeared into the spare bedroom.
    Bianchi followed Angelo’s instructions. In her purse he found two dollars and some change in a wallet with nothingelse in it except a snapshot of two little boys, one about eight, the other maybe four. He went through her jacket pockets but found nothing. He heard noises: Angelo’s voice, indistinct but harsh, commanding, and female squeals. He must have taken the gag off. What was Angelo doing to her? Bianchi felt he knew.