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“I’ll…”Shit.“…cross that bridge when I come to it. I’ll tell her soon. I really will.”

“I just don’t want to see you disappointed again.”

“Sadie likesme,” Joan said. “She likes boring Joanie. That’s what we have to focus on. I’m still the same person.”

The hidden side door cracked open. A putrid odor wafted over the table. Mark wrinkled his nose and said, “Ah, jeez. The hench-asses.”

Joan peered over her shoulder. “What are you doing here, Irving?”

Irving fizzled out of invisibility. He wasn’t in his Hide gear, but jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. “Who’s Sadie?” he asked.

“Your mom,” she maturely answered.

“My mom’s name is Norma.”

Mark snorted and cradled his head in his hands.

“Whatareyou doing here?” Perry said.

Irving shuffled his feet. “Trick wants to keep track of the painting you took from the haul. You said you had a buyer for it?”

“Yeah. We’re doing the handoff tonight.”

“And then none of you ask me or Mark for anything else,” Joan said.

“Tonight.” Irving gave a thumbs-up. “Good. Get it moved quickly.”

Mark pointed both index fingers at Perry. “We’re doing this for you, Per. Because we love you and we’re eternally grateful to you.”

“And so we can have a nest egg to start the next chapter of our lives,” Joan added.

Perry adjusted his glasses, not saying anything to keep up appearances in front of the hench-douche.

Ethel scurried in through the side door like a rodent. She was even dressed in shades of brown that matched her dull hair. “Trick wants to make sure you—” She stopped when she spied Irving. “I wanted to ask them.”

“I got here first,” he said.

“That’s not fair. I had to park the van.”

Joan gave Mark a chin nod, conveying it was time to suit up and get ready for the handoff. Mark scooted his chair back and said, “You can both tell Melvin?—”

“Trick,” Ethel said.

“—we’re taking care of the ugly painting tonight. And then it’s goodbye, so long, smell ya later.”

Irving crossed his arms. “Trick’s still willing to let you be a part of his big plan.”

“This is your last chance to join him,” Ethel droned.

“I’d rather eat week-old uncooked lutefisk,” Mark said.

“I’d rather eat week-old uncooked lutefisk that’s been sitting in a car with all the windows rolled up during a heatwave,” Joan said.

“Damn, that’s a good one.”

Mark draped an arm across her shoulders. She did the same and squeezed. They walked toward the little changing room that housed their gear.

“Do you think those two have ever boned?” Mark muttered.