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“I won’t do anything that requires the wearing of rubber gloves,” added Louis.

The doctor stared at them before returning her attention to me.

“Do you have any other friends?” she asked. “Any at all?”

I was left alone to freshen up. I took the opportunity to examine my face. Both my eyes were blackened, my nostrils were packed with gauze, and a dressing covered my nose. I was sure I’d looked worse. I just couldn’t remember when.

My phone rang. I was tempted not to answer until I saw the caller ID: SAC Edgar Ross of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

“I heard you took a beating,” he said when I picked up. “Another one, I mean.”

“Good news travels fast. If you’re calling to commiserate, I’ll have to work hard to pick up on the sincerity.”

“How bad is it?”

“A busted nose, a sore head, a couple of fractured ribs. I’ll live.”

“I never doubted it.”

“What do you want? I already have a headache. Don’t add to it.”

“You were mentioned in dispatches.”

“Whose dispatches?”

“Devin Vaughn’s. An overheard conversation.”

“Careless of him.”

“Hardly, not with all the eyes and ears we had on him. He was heard to suggest that if some harm befell you, it would be no more than you deserved. It sounds as though his wish came true. He also mentioned someone named Wyatt who, unless there’s a sale on coincidences this week, is the same Wyatt responsible for putting you in the hospital.”

“That’s him.”

“We were interested in Devin Vaughn. Now it seems that you were interested in him too, and look what’s happened as a consequence.”

“Riggins worked for one of Vaughn’s companies up here, a cannabis farm and dispensary called BrightBlown. That’s as far as my interest in Devin Vaughn’s business activities goes. Wait a minute: Why do you keep referring to Vaughn in the past tense?”

“Because,” said Ross, “someone broke into his house last night, under the eyes of any number of federal agents, and killed him, his girlfriend, and four of his men. Oh, and they cut out Vaughn’s heart for good measure, probably with the same blade that was recently used to eviscerate a Virginia narcotics dealer named Donnie Ray Dolfe and two collectors of ancient artifacts in Loudoun County—and perhaps an antiquities smuggler called Roland Bilas in Los Angeles a while before that, not to mention an ex-soldier named Emmett Lucas who also ended up with his balls in his mouth. I’m just a lowly government employee, but even I can discern a pattern. We’re now of the opinion that Vaughn, Dolfe, Bilas, Hul and Harriet Swisher, Emmett Lucas, and your target Wyatt Riggins were involved in some mischief involving one Blas Urrea, a Mexican cartel boss. You wouldn’t know what mischief that might be, would you?”

“I’m still piecing it together.”

“And there I was, trying to look after your welfare. This may be why misfortune keeps befalling you. You can’t accept a helping hand.”

“Are we done?” I asked.

“For now.”

“Good, because talking hurts. I just want another day. After that, I’ll share what I have with anyone who cares to listen.”

“Share?” said Ross. “Without being forced? That is out of character.”

“Now who can’t accept a helping hand?”

“Call it justifiable skepticism. But as an advance gesture of goodwill, here’s a name for you: Seeley. Eugene Seeley.”

I gave no indication that I’d heard the name before.

“And who is Eugene Seeley?”