While Iveta is showering (again) and changing in the bathroom, I get a hankering for a cigarette.

Pat down my jacket. No cigarettes. Keep forgetting. But: three sheets of awkwardly folded paper in the inner pocket … Trump letterhead?

Oh yeah, the list of residents at the Trump Tower. Courtesy of who’s-that-kid … Reginald the doorman, for whom I wish only the best things.

I see Iveta’s pack of cigarettes, grab one. With a menthol between ring and forefinger, I get back to my coffee. I’m really hungry, I realize.

Spread the crumpled paper out. Might as well have a look. Humming as I go down the list. A, B, C … Toward the end: Rosenblatt, Daniel. Number 1119.

Immediate knot in my stomach.

I light the cigarette, hand shaking a bit. Check on my key, still present. I memorize: apartment number 1119.

It used to be you’d throw a rock in this town and hit a Jew. Less so these days.

District Attorney Daniel Rosenblatt. Same man? My gut says absolutely yes. How could it not be, given this wacky job?

I fold up the papers, slide them into my pocket. I don’t have a clue what this means in the larger scheme. But. Still.

This is a rough call, but I fetch my pistol.

Iveta emerges in a minute or so, fully dressed. Sits down across from me, takes her cup with two hands. Like a girl.

“I’m cold. Too much AC.”

She’s got flecks of blood on the front of her T-shirt. My blood. Small spatters of red and brown decorate her jeans and sweater.

I show her the gun. Direct it at her.

Iveta flinches. Then rolls her eyes, uncoils. Sits back, arms folded. “You must be fucking kidding. Again?”

“Not kidding.”

“Okay, what is this problem now? I thought we had become friends, Mr. Decimal.”

“Yeah, I kinda did too.” I won’t lie, it’s not easy to be pointing a gun at this woman. But I say, “Tell me about DA Daniel Rosenblatt.”

She goes very still. That right there, that more or less tells me the story. “You … know him?”

“Obviously not well enough. But yeah. He’s my occasional employer.”

I can see the gears turning as Iveta chews on this new factoid. “Well … this, this is a big coincidence.”

“Is it?”

“Daniel was very kind to me and to my child.” She takes a sip of coffee. Casual, cool.

“Yeah? That’s a lovely picture.”

“He told you about us?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then how do you—”

“This is where you went, the Trump, after leaving me at your house. Right?”

“Yes, but I thought you knew this. Not about me and Daniel. About where I am staying.”

“I had an idea. But I only confirmed it for myself yesterday evening.”

“So, perhaps you were not protecting me at all then.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I had plenty of opportunities to give you up, I just didn’t do it. Seemed wrong. I don’t know who anybody is. I’m playing darts in the dark here.”

“Playing … ?”

“Never mind. What I’m saying is I’m not sure whose side I’m on cause everybody is tossing bullshit at me and I’m running myself ragged trying to figure you people out.”

Iveta scratches her neck. “If you have to know.”

“I think that would begin to put me at ease here.”

I recommit myself to training the pistol on her. Like I said, not easy. She searches my face. Sighs.

“Daniel and me, we had very big fight. Really bad. Just last night, before I saw you. He went crazy. Said he had ‘new information.’ About me. Said he would turn me in to these authorities—with no papers I would be in big shit.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry to hear that.” I hate my tone. I sound like a bitchy girlfriend. “But you understand, Iveta, there’s just too many fucked-up connections here for my taste. I start to get the sense that everybody’s talking to everybody else and the overall plan is to fuck with my skull.”

She shakes her head. “This world does not revolve around you. Okay, I’ll tell you. About Daniel and me. Do you want to hear? Maybe not?”

Keeping the gun up, I shake out another of Iveta’s smokes one-handed. I hate menthols. “Yeah, let’s hear it.”

She stares at me for a bit. “You think I’m lying to you? Mister, you have big fucking ego, I tell you this. Okay, understand. You’re my only hope here. Do you understand that much?”

What is she telling me?

I pick up the matches, they say Trump Tower. Fold one down and snap my fingers, light up. Party trick.

But I gotta admit, I’m distressed. I don’t like me, not like this. Forget for a second why I’m holding the gun. Oh yeah.

I push forward. “I’m your only hope. If you say so, darling. You’re up shit’s creek in that case, cause I don’t have the best track record when it comes to taking care of people.”

“I doubt that. Also, like I said, with Daniel, it is over. I’m afraid of him. He’s insane.”

“He’s a douche bag. A cream puff.”

“You sound like jealous husband.”

I scoff at that shit. But she’s right. “Please. Daniel Rosenblatt? He’s got nothing going on save his title. Otherwise he’s just a squirrel trying to get a nut. A little man. Bottom-feeder.”

“No, really he is dangerous. Very dangerous. To me, to you.”

I wait. Trying to decide if I should pocket the gun. I don’t want to be doing this.

She looks at her nails. They’re cut short. Seems to make a decision. “This trouble I had, in Riga …”

“Yeah?”

“It’s not good at all. I was very young. Stupid, you know. Was part of this political student group. Do things like, small things, making statues explode, bomb threats on public buildings.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad. Dudes I knew in high school …”

“Well. I had trained as nurse and was working at Latvian military hospital. Anyway. After work hours, I let some comrades in through, what is it, a service door, they plant explosives in basement. I had no idea about the explosives, I thought … simple vandalism or something. Like a symbol. I was wrong. Explosives went off and kill six people.”

Huh. “Jesus.”

Iveta nods. “I know. It’s not good. This is why I left the country. If I go back there, I go to jail or worse. Daniel knows this, and he would use it. He would deport me, no problem.”

This sounds a bit off. “How could Daniel possibly know this stuff?”

“I told him. Some of it.”

“Why?”

“I trusted him. Like I am telling you now. And then he gets this ‘new information,’ I don’t know what it says.”

“Uh-huh. It just, it seems to me he’s too much of a pussy to do something so extreme.”

“Extreme? He is ordering executions. God knows what else. I’m frightened of Daniel like I am frightened of Yakiv.”

“Who is a killer and a rapist, right?”

“Yes. You don’t believe me about Yakiv. He charmed you, huh? He’s very charming, sure.”

“I don’t believe anybody at the moment,” I say, and I mean it. Though fuck knows, if I want to believe anybody, she’s sitting right in front of me.

Then Iveta does a crazy, reckless thing. Leans forward, softly places her hand over mine. My hand that holds the pistol.

My stomach rises and flips. I stiffen up and immediately am thinking about Purell^TM. On instinct. Then I’m thinking about her hand, her skin. Rougher than I expected. That’s not a bad thing.

She holds my gaze. Calm. Says, “Mr. Decimal. Look at me. I’m just a person. You say I saved your life last night. Okay. You maybe save mine over last few days. I need you to at least try and hear me.”

I don’t say anything. I like the fact that Iveta is touching me, holding the hand that holds the gun. I like the idea of it. The idea of her.

“But I won’t be threatened by you anymore,” she says. “I don’t think you want it like this either.”

Right. Cause there’s a piece that doesn’t fit in this configuration, hand on hand on gun. It’s the gun. The gun doesn’t fit.

I lower my hand to the table. Iveta maintains eye contact and doesn’t let go.

Very gently, I remove the Beretta with my other hand and place it on the glass.

Then it’s just us, just the hands.

But it’s too much, so I pull it away, gradually, but I pull away.

I nod at her. Lean back and feel a fuck of a lot better.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

Nod again. Weirdly, I feel myself choking up, but I nip that shit right in the bud. There will be none of that.

“Okay, I tell you,” says Iveta Shapsko.