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“You’re doing a lot better than I am. And if brainwork is what you want, I think you can handle anything she throws at you.”

“Thanks.”

She smiles.

“Now let’s see if you can get me out of the doghouse with her.”

“I’m not sure anyone’s that smart.”

She holds up her phone and takes a photo.

“What are you shooting?”

“I’m Instagramming the seagull shit.”

“Good idea. It could be a Nazi seagull.”

“Please. Seagulls are anarchists,” Candy says. “They don’t play by anybody’s rules but their own.”

I open my mouth to argue with her, but what comes out is, “Oh shit.”

She turns where I’m looking.

“What is it?”

“Lock the back door on the passenger side. I’ll be back in a second.”

I get out and walk as fast as I can without attracting attention.

Outside the ECG office, David Moore is having a friendly chat with his phone. I wait until he’s facing away, come up behind him, and put the black blade to his back.

“Hang up,” I whisper. “Tell them you’ll call back later.”

Without missing a beat he says, “Babe, I’ve got to call you back. Something’s come up.”

I turn off the phone for him and put it in his pocket.

“Let’s take a ride.”

“Why can’t we talk here? I won’t run away.”

“I don’t like the sun. My scars don’t tan. I end up with freaky white railroad tracks all over my face.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back here for now. Later, who knows?”

I walk him to the Crown Vic. Candy leans over the seats and opens the rear passenger-­side door. I shove Moore inside and get in next to him.

He looks at Candy in her big black shades, black lipstick, and pink hair.

“This is Chihiro,” I say. “She has a gun and a phone, so it’s fifty-­fifty whether she’ll shoot you or Instagram you.”

“I told you, I’m not going to run.”

“You got that right,” she says.

She crooks her finger at me.