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ebrows went up when he heard the man say her name.

How does he know?

Then the man, as if reading Bayer’s mind, looked at him and said, “I’m here to collect the money the bitch owes Donnie.”

He turned back to look at the bed.

“Move it, Mary!”

“Okay, okay, Christopher,” she said.

Mary struggled to get out of the bed but finally did so and stood there naked and bruised and bent, modestly trying but failing to cover her breasts and crotch with her marked arms and hands.

That, you sonofabitch, is a new low, Bayer thought, staring at the man.

The man appeared unmoved.

He motioned with the pistol at Mary and said, “You! Go close the door!”

Bayer watched as she shuffled feebly from the bed, passed where he was pinned against the wall, then crossed the room to the door. She pushed it but was so weak that when the door swung on its hinges it closed but did not click completely shut.

Bayer, his voice sounding strange due to his vocal cords being constricted, asked the man, “How much?”

“Three hundred bucks, plus another hundred as a penalty.”

Beating her almost to death wasn’t penalty enough? Bayer thought.

Bayer nodded his understanding.

He tried to swallow.

The man said, “And I want it fucking now.”

Bayer nodded again.

“I have to get it from my wallet”—he nodded toward the upholstered chair—“in my coat.”

The man looked at the coat in the chair.

“Mary,” he said, “bring me that coat!”

Mary shuffled from the door to the chair. With some difficulty, she pulled the coat off the chair and started dragging it across the room.

“Hurry, goddammit!” the man said.

[ TWO ]

Richard Koch, who had hung up the phone after Bayer had called and immediately gone to the elevator and taken it up, walked down the corridor of the ninth floor.

He looked at the room numbers on the doors on the right side as he went and saw that he was getting closer to 909. He came to 903, then 905. When he got to 907, he looked ahead and saw what had to be the door to 909.

It was open a crack.

He took another step—then heard from the inside of 909 a strange man’s voice say, “Hurry, goddammit!”

It made Koch’s skin crawl.

He instantly got low to the floor, then reached in his pocket, pulled out the Walther PPK semiautomatic pistol, and worked the slide to chamber one of the 9mm rounds.