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“I’ll kick her ass myself, and I’ll do a trick-time job, ’cos, serious, Highball, she may fly off at the mouth sometimes, but, shit, I’m tellin’ ya, man. She got uptown bags and a front-door backstop make the Pope shit his pants , and she give gobble-game topper that any boo boo head ever sucked your whip.”
    Paulie frowned. “ What? ”
    “I think he means she’s got great tits and pussy and sucks dynamite dick,” Argi said.
    “Oh, she do, and you’n your crew can have it any time ya wants.” Case Piece looked to Highball, who remained pinned to the floor. “Right, Highball?”
    She wagged her head yes faster than anyone ever had in all of human history.
    Paulie sighed. “Case Piece, you don’t get it. I’m Italian. When an Italian is smote by a whore, well…that’s just…” He paused and snapped his fingers at Prouty. “Doc, what am I tryin’ to say?”
    “I believe,” the doctor began, “that such a regrettable instance demands satisfaction from which there is no recourse; no manner of apology, for example, exists in any level of acceptability.”
    “Yeah,” Paulie said. “So… What are we gonna do about this blondie here with the black roots?”
    Argi tapped Paulie’s shoulder, grinned, and pointed outside.
    To the Winnebago.
    “Argi! You’re a genius!” Paulie celebrated. “Why didn’t I think of that?” He slapped Case Piece on the back. “Come on, my friend. Like it or not, you’re gonna get to see that we got in the Winnie!” and with that, they all filed out of the warehouse, Argi and Cristo carrying the girl.
    Dr. Prouty was visibly disturbed, as Case Piece would be in very short order. The black man “peel-eyed” the motor-home quite complimentarily. “Trick fuckin’ ride, Paulie. Fucker must be thirty feet long.” The vehicle gleamed in the December sun. A satellite dish sat on top. Case Piece took a walk around, first, noting the sound of a fan running from the rear of the vehicle, and, second, he saw the large drop-door in vicinity. “Paulie, what this big door here, bro?”
    “Aw, we ain’t usin’ it—that’s the elevator.”
    “Elevator. The fuck you need that for?”
    “Wheelchair,” Cristo said as he and Argi managed the still-convulsant Highball.
    “Wheelchair?”
    Paulie grinned. “You’ll see,” and then he opened a smaller door with steps at the bottom, and showed everyone inside.
    “Damn!” Case Piece said. He swept his gaze about the plush interior: leather couches, kitchenette, full liquor bar, shag carpet, giant-ass plasma TV. An impressive laptop computer and auxiliary screen occupied a small ledge opposite. “You shittin’ me, Paulie! This the toppest party-player wagon I ever see,” but then he took a moment in noticing a door in the wall of the back of the vehicle. Simple estimation told him that only twenty feet of this thirty-foot motor home was visible. The rest…
    …was behind that door.
    “So what gives, man?” Case Piece scratched his head. “ This where you snuff folks?”
    “Naw. Back there.” Paulie seemed intensely delighted, looking down at the silenced, squirming, terror-stricken form of Highball. “See, that’s where Melda is.”
    “Who’s Melda? ”
    The mafioso’s grin kept sharpening. “Go through that door and you’ll see.”
    “Uh…”
    “Go on. Go in. Brace yourself, though. We got a fan runnin’ but the room still smells like a fuckin’ lion cage. See, Melda don’t wash, we don’t let her, ’cos…” Paulie looked to the even more visibly distressed Dr. Prouty. “Tell him why, Doc.”
    Prouty sucked in a despairing breath. “Foregoing typical hygiene, with regard to Melda and her unique utility for Mr. Vinchetti, only compounds the sheer magnitude of the horror for the victim.”
    Case Piece didn’t know what they were talking about.
    “Go on,” Paulie repeated. “Go say hi to Melda…”
    Case Piece opened the narrow door and stepped into the rear room. An utterly silent pause