The Big Dirt Nap

someone to my room with your clothes in five minutes.'

'I could call Amanda. She's coming back later, so she could bring you something to wear.'

'I need men's clothing.'

'Oh, sure, I get it,' he said knowingly. 'We have a few other customers who like to do that, too. There's one guy, you should see him, wig and everything.'

'A hundred dollars and you'll eventually get them back,' I said, handing him the cash.

Forty-five

The elevator doors had just opened when I heard Lucy's scream. Sam flew past me and I grabbed him and hustled him back to the room before any other guests came out into the corridor to see what the disturbance was. After a few deep breaths, Lucy calmed down and apologized.

'It wasn't you. It was me,' she said. 'I was expecting Paula.'

'No offense taken,' Sam said, sitting down on the love seat and putting his shopping bag on the floor.

'That's a Michael's bag.'

'It is. Good company. I used to own stock.'

Lucy did her best to hide her surprise at both Sam's articulate answer and his obvious ease with the situation.

'What happened to you?' she said to me. 'You look like shit.'

'Thank you, I've been hiding in a Hefty bag. Why did you leave? We had to hitchhike back. You should have heard the psycho that picked us up.'

What she did hear was the crash of the metal shelving unit inside the factory. She immediately called the cops and they told her to get the hell out of there and wait for them at Titans.

'That's what I did, about an hour ago, but they haven't come yet. They're probably at the factory looking for you two,' she said.

'They didn't show up when we were there,' I said. 'Who did you call?'

'I called 911. Who do you get when you call 911?'

'A dispatcher,' Sam said. 'Up here they get a lot of prank calls so they make you jump through hoops to make sure it's really an emergency.'

'Oh, I think from the way I was shrieking a perceptive person would have been able to tell that this was the real thing.'

Sam smiled. 'Any chance there's a Diet Coke in that minibar?'

'Mother's milk,' Lucy said, and got up to get them each a can.

'You two get acquainted. I desperately need a shower and a change of clothes. Sam's new clothing should be up in a few minutes. But don't scream when it is delivered. We don't want to attract any more attention.'

I stripped a pillowcase from the bed and retrieved the leather pants and sleeveless top from my overnight bag and took them into the bathroom. The hoodie and top pulled off easily but the pants were glued to my leg with my own dried blood. Yanking them off hurt like hell, but I did it quickly the way you'd pull off a Band-Aid. The blood started flowing again and I stepped into the tub to catch it.

The shower felt great until I made a tactical error and let my thigh get hit by a direct stream of water. I let out a scream that rivaled Lucy's. I shifted positions and resigned myself to the fact that my right side would be cleaner than my left.

The gash was ragged but not that deep—my jeans had saved me a few layers of skin. Using the cuticle nippers in my travel kit, I started a hole in the pillowcase, then tore it into strips to make a bandage. I did a pretty good job; I looked like a professional tennis player with her thigh wrapped before a big match. I held my hairbrush like a tennis racket, spinning it around in my hands the way the pros do. I even took a few practice swings before realizing how idiotic it was for me to have left my best friend in the next room with a homeless man while I stood, naked, in the bathroom, practicing my serve.

I slipped into my pants carefully, grateful that the tight leather would hold the bandage in place. Sam and Lucy seemed to be having a lively conversation outside so I took an extra few minutes to put on makeup, rubbing tint on the apples of my cheeks. No need to look totally hideous.

When I emerged, towel-drying my hair, they'd been joined by a third person.

'You specifically told me not to scream,' Lucy said through gritted teeth.

'Sit down.'

And I did, since I make it a point never to argue with a woman who's got a gun.

Forty-six

'Good to see you,' I said. 'Thanks for returning my jacket.' Lucy and Sam were less sure that it was good to see Oksana since she was clearly upset and holding a gun.

'Everything's gone wrong,' she said, eyes weepy, waving the gun around the room. She repositioned the heavy leather messenger bag strapped across her chest and, in doing so, managed to point the gun at everyone in the room. 'I'm not even supposed to be here.'

'Feel free to leave,' Lucy said. I shot her a look that suggested it wasn't smart to be a wiseass to a fairly hysterical person with a weapon.

Oksana had been fired. When the friend learned Oksana couldn't pay her share of the rent she'd been locked her out of the mobile home. With no other place to go she returned to Sergei, who'd asked for payment of a different kind.

Sam was sympathetic. 'I know how it is,' he said, 'when it seems like everything's gone wrong. But you're so young. You'll wake up tomorrow and see the world hasn't come to an end. And you'll go on. Believe me. Sit down and try to relax.'

'Forgive me, but who are you?' she asked, doing as Sam had suggested.

'Sam Dillon.' I wondered when he'd last used his entire name. Of course, the name meant nothing to her. 'People at the hotel sometimes call me Big Y,' he said. At that her eyes widened even further.

'You're Big Y? Is Billy here, too?' She stood up and looked around nervously. 'You've got to get out of here. All of you. Sergei and his men are looking for you. He was hired to make sure nothing interfered with the casino deal. Nick tried to butt in and look at what happened to him.'

After years of being a gofer for the Mishkins, Nick wanted to cash in. When he couldn't he threatened to go to the press with a story that would have had the hotel's investor on the first boat back to China and maybe even queer the Quepochas' chances for recognition.

'Sergei saw Nick talking to me and thought I was a reporter, right?' I said. Oksana nodded. 'Did he have someone follow me to Springfield and search my house?'

'Could be Vitaly. And Marat. I heard Sergei tell them to check your computer. But not at the hotel because then the cops might suspect something.' She rubbed her runny nose on the back of her hand, the one that held the gun.

'Wouldn't you like to put that gun down?' I said.

She acted as if she hadn't heard me. Sam nonchalantly reached for his can of soda and moved a little closer to Oksana, ready to make a move if necessary.

'They were supposed to reason with Nick, not kill him. I don't know what happened. And then, then . . .'—she closed her eyes briefly—'Sergei asked me to find out how much you knew. I didn't want to be involved. I liked Nick, but I owe Sergei my life.'

'What did you tell him?'

'That you knew nothing about the Mishkins' loan, the casino, or any of this business, that you were nice.' She wanted me to believe her and I wanted to, but she was a practiced liar, and whether she'd admit it or not, Sergei clearly had a Rasputin-like hold on her. 'I told him it was another woman . . . named Lucy.' She looked at Lucy and raised her shoulders as if to apologize.

'Now he thinks I lied to him and they are after me, too. These people would just as soon kill you for fifteen