True to her word, Trix was out in the car, and the engine was running. Since I was clearly not carrying a book, Trix was freaking out a little bit.

“Quit strolling and get in the fucking car!”

Two seconds after I got in, the car took off like a fighter plane. She’d obviously been talking to the driver, who was perspiring heavily.

“Mike, what happened? Are they going to do it?”

I took out my cell phone and dialed all those fives. Counted off two rings. And let it ring.

On the fifteenth ring, the chief of staff answered the phone. “I said two rings, McGill.”

“They don’t have the book.” I was forcing myself to speak slowly. “I have in my possession a receipt for the book, which I believe to be genuine.”

“Oh, you believe it, do you?”

“You hired me for my skills. Try listening.”

“…I think I liked you better before you started acting like you grew a pair, McGill.”

“Jeff Roanoke Jr. gave the book to a prostitute in exchange for her continued silence regarding services rendered for what I presume was an extended period of time. He’s also maintained enough sporadic surveillance on her to give a credible assurance that she remains in the location given on the receipt document. He was not in a position to lie convincingly to me.”

“And why is that?”

“Because he was seriously confused by controlled substances. And because I was going to light his head on fire.”

The chief of staff laughed over the phone. Wind passing through bones.

“Okay, Mike. Okay. What was your opinion of the Roanokes?”

“In my considered opinion, it would be far more cruel to let them live.”

More laughter, and then he abruptly hung up.

I smiled at Trix. “Everyone’s going to live.”

She sagged in her seat. “Christ.”

“It’s not all good news,” I said. “We have to go to Las Vegas now.”

“Vegas? Vegas is cool. We could get married by Elvis.” She leaned over to tap the sweaty driver on the shoulder. “Hey. Everything’s okay. You can slow down now.”

He threw up over the steering wheel.