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Clairmont a wide grin. His teeth were in need of thousands of dollars worth of dental work. “Very good, Arthur. This gentleman can’t make noise if his vocal chords are flapping around.”
    â€œIf vocal chords do that,” Arthur said.
    Otto kicked Jack in the buttocks, not hard this time. “Crawl over there into them shadows,” he said.
    Jack Clairmont craned his neck and stared up at them. He looked as if he were about to cry. “Who are you guys?”
    â€œI’m Mr. Pain,” Otto said.
    Arthur’s turn to smile. Perfect teeth. “And I’m Mr. Suffering.”
    â€œAnd you better become Mister Crawl,” Otto said. “Right now would be a good time to start—What the hell was that?
    â€œOnly a cat,” Arthur said.
    â€œThing was jet propelled. And black.”
    â€œBad luck.”
    â€œNot for us, Arthur.”
    â€œWhat’d it have in its mouth?”
    â€œWho gives a shit? We got business here, Arthur.”
    â€œThen business it is.” Arthur looked down at the injured man and grinned. Sometimes he loved his job.
    Otto stared hard at Jack Clairmont and motioned with his head, as he had earlier to Arthur, indicating direction.
    Jack Clairmont began to crawl.
    Then he stopped. “ Oh, my God! My hand! ”
    Otto sighed. What the hell was this about? He remembered the black cat.
    â€œI’m missing a finger!” Clairmont moaned. “That goddam crusher on the trash truck cut off my finger! My finger .”
    Otto shrugged. “It ain’t as if anybody’s gonna be asking you for directions.” He kicked the man again and pointed with his finger.
    Moaning, sobbing, Clairmont resumed his crawl toward the shadows, favoring his right hand.
    Still holding the knife, Arthur stood with his beefy arms crossed and stared at him. “He ain’t very fast.”
    â€œYeah,” Otto said. “That missing finger, maybe.”
    â€œYou think it could affect his balance? Like when you lose your little toe?”
    â€œI never lost a little toe, Arthur.”
    Arthur said, “Hey, that cat! You don’t suppose ...”
    â€œWe ain’t got time to look and find out,” Otto said. He glanced around. “This is far enough,” he said to the crawling Clairmont.
    â€œYeah,” Arthur said. “Time for you to rest in pieces.” He laughed. No one else did. “I was referring to the separated finger,” Arthur explained. But a joke never worked once you deconstructed it.
    â€œThis guy’s kind of a wet blanket,” Otto said, shoving Jack with his foot so he turned and was leaning with his back against the wall. “We been here too long already. Stick him, Arthur, so we can leave this place before somebody happens by.”
    â€œ Happens by ? You must watch the BBC.”
    â€œPip, pip. Do stick him, Arthur.”
    Arthur stuck him.
    May 6, 4:58 p.m.
    Ida and Craig were sitting in the living room, watching cable news on the TV with the sound muted. There was no news yet about the Cardell bracelet theft.
    â€œWhere’s Boomerang?” Eloise asked.
    Craig looked at her, this annoying child that came with Ida as part of a set, half of which Craig loved. Loved enough to use, anyway.
    â€œWho’s Boomerang?” Craig asked, without real interest.
    â€œHer cat,” Ida said. “You know Boomerang.”
    â€œOnly in the way you can know a cat,” Craig said.
    â€œI think he ran away again,” Ida said.
    Eloise shrugged. “He doesn’t run away. He always comes back. Like a real boomerang.”
    â€œUsually with a gift,” Ida said, cringing at the thought of some of the grisly trophies Boomerang had left on the kitchen floor as offerings. Everything from dead sparrows to rat heads. The more horrific the better. Boomerang would reenter the way he’d left, through the kitchen window, always open a crack to the fire escape, and deposit his