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“Fuck you,” says Crew Cut. “Fuck both you bitches. I’ll say ‘bitch’ anytime I want, bitch.”

Candy goes Jade again. Curls one of her claws under the edge of Crew Cut’s blindfold and rips it off.

He blinks a ­couple of times before getting Candy in focus.

“Fuck me. What the fuck are you?” he says.

“Say ‘bitch’ again,” I say. “I double dog dare you.”

Crew Cut looks at me and back to Candy. Her lips are pulled back from her razor teeth.

“Shit,” he says.

“Good. Now that that’s settled, let’s get to work. You’re not a Dead Head, but you work with them for the Legion. You ever work with a vampire?”

“What do you fucking care . . . ?”

He’s about to say “bitch” again, but catches himself.

“What was the necromancer’s name?”

Crew Cut squirms around on the chair.

“I don’t know. What do I care about Dead Heads and vampires? I don’t know nothing about them.”

“Really? Because I hear a necromancer, a vampire, and a dumb fuck who looks a lot like you had a party in the woods not too long ago.”

He shakes his head.

“Don’t know anything about that.”

“You sure?”

He plants his feet on the floor and looks at me.

“Why don’t you untie me and we’ll work this out like men, okay?”

“Two minutes ago I was your bitch. What’s changed?”

He struggles with the tape on his wrists long enough to figure out it’s not coming off.

Candy moves around behind him and runs her claws up his arms, his neck, and over his face. He freezes while she plays with him.

“You know a place called Murphy Ranch?” I say.

“Nope,” says Crew Cut.

Candy flicks a claw against his cheek. Draws blood.

“Fuck,” he says, and tries to shake her hands off his shoulders.

I go over and whisper to Candy. She turns human again and goes next door.

“I’m tired,” I say. “And you’re boring. I’ve dealt with shit sacks like you my whole life. Tinhorn tough guys afraid their daddy has a bigger dick than them, so you prove you’re a man by taking your bullshit out on the world. Now, your particular flavor of bullshit is this white-­power game. First you invent an enemy, which gives you and your little friends an excuse to get together and stomp ­people. Then, because you wrapped it all up in a political bow, you’re not a bunch of zero-­future losers, you’re big-­balled soldiers saving the Fatherland from the godless hordes. Am I getting close, Chuck? Am I in the ballpark?”

“You don’t know shit about shit, bitch,” he says, drawing out the last syllable nice and long so I’m sure not to miss it.

Candy comes back in just as he’s running out of steam. She’s not alone.