“No, that’s not—”

“Let me finish, okay? It’s my daughter. You have to understand that. You need to crack before I’ll believe you. The Twins. They’re good at making a man crack.”

“Just hear me out, okay? I’m trying to find Aimee Biel—”

“No.”

“—and if I find her, there’s an excellent chance I’ll find your daughter too. I’m telling you. Look, you checked me out, right? That’s how you know about Win.”

Rochester stopped, waited.

“You must have heard this is what I do. I help people when they’re in trouble. I dropped that girl off and now she’s gone. I owe it to her parents to find her.”

Rochester looked at the Twins. In the distance Myron heard a car radio, the song fading in and then fading out. The song was “We Built This City on Rock-n-Roll” by Starship.

The second worst song in the world, Myron thought.

Ascot Bite started singing along, “We built este ciudad, we built este ciudad, we built este ciudad . . .” Hippy Art Teacher, still holding Myron’s legs, started bobbing his head, clearly digging his colleague’s vocals.

“I’m telling the truth,” Myron said.

“Either way,” Rochester said, “if you’re telling the truth or not, the Twins here. They’ll find out. See? You can’t lie to them. Once they hurt you some, you’ll tell us everything we need to know.”

“But by then it’s too late,” Myron said.

“They won’t take long.” Rochester looked at Art Teacher.

Art Teacher said, “Half an hour, hour max.”

“That’s not what I meant. I’ll be too hurt. I won’t be able to function.”

“He has a point,” Art Teacher said.

“We leave marks,” Ascot added, flashing his teeth.

Rochester thought about it.

“Orville, where did you say he was before he came home?”

Art Teacher—Orville—gave him Randy Wolf’s address and told him about the diner. They’d been tailing him, and Myron hadn’t picked up on it. Either they were very good or Myron was awfully rusty—or both. Rochester asked Myron why he visited both places.

“The house is where her boyfriend lives,” Myron said. “But he wasn’t home.”

“You think he has something to do with it?”

Myron knew better to answer in the positive. “Just talking to Aimee’s friends, see what was up with her. Who better than her boyfriend?”

“And the diner?”

“I met a source. I wanted to see what they had on your daughter and Aimee. I’m trying to find a connection between them.”

“So what have you learned so far?”

“I’m just starting.”

Rochester thought some more. Then he shook his head slowly. “Way I heard it, you picked up the Biel girl at two A.M.”

“That’s right.”

“At two A.M.,” he repeated.

“She called me.”

“Why?” His face reddened. “Is it because you like picking up high school girls?”

“That’s not it.”

“Oh, I suppose you gonna tell me it was innocent?”

“It was.”

Myron could see the anger mounting. He was losing him.

“You watch that trial with that perv Michael Jackson?”

The question confused Myron. “A little, I guess.”

“He sleeps with little boys, right? He admits it. But then he says, ‘Oh but it’s innocent.’ ”

Now Myron saw where this was going.

“And here you are, just like that, telling me you pick up pretty high school girls, late at night. At two A.M. And then you say, ‘Oh, but it’s innocent.’ ”

“Listen to me—”

“Nah, I think I listened enough.”

Rochester nodded for the Twins to go ahead.

Enough time had passed. Win was, Myron hoped, in place. He was probably waiting for one last distraction. Myron couldn’t move, so he tried something else.

Without warning, Myron let loose a scream.

He screamed as long and as loud as he could, even after Orville the Art Teacher snapped a fist into his teeth.

But the scream had the desired effect. For a second, everyone looked at him. Just for a second. No more.

But that was enough.

An arm snaked around Rochester’s neck as a gun appeared at his forehead. Win’s face materialized next to Rochester’s.

“Next time,” Win said, crinkling his nose, “please refrain from buying your cologne at your local Exxon station.”

The Twins were greased lightning. They were off Myron in under a second. Art Teacher took to the far corner. Ascot Bite flipped behind Myron and pulled him up, using Myron as a shield. He had a gun out now too. He put it against the back of Myron’s neck.

Stalemate.

Win kept his arm around Rochester’s neck. He squeezed the windpipe. Rochester’s face darkened red as the oxygen drained away. His eyes rolled back. A few seconds later, Win did something a little surprising: He released his grip on the throat. Rochester retched and sucked in a deep breath. Using him as a shield, Win’s gun stayed near the back of the man’s head but now angled toward Art Teacher.

“Cutting off his air supply, what with that awful cologne,” Win said, by way of an explanation. “It was too merciful.”

The Twins studied Win as though he were something little and cute they’d stumbled across in the forest. They did not appear to be afraid of him. As soon as Win had come upon the scene, they’d coordinated their movements as if they’d done this before.

“Sneaking up like that,” Hippy Art Teacher said, smiling at Win. “Dude, that was one radical move.”

“Far out,” Win said. “Like, dig it.”

He frowned. “Are you mocking me, man?”

“Tripping. Groovy. Flower power.”

Art Teacher looked at Ascot Bite as if to say, Do you believe this guy?

“Man oh man, dude, you don’t know who you’re messing with.”

“Put your weapons down,” Win said, “or I’ll kill you both.”

The Twins smiled some more, enjoying this.

“Dude, you ever do, like, math?”

Win gave Art Teacher the flat eyes. “Like, yah.”

“See, we got two guns. You got one.”

Ascot Bite rested his head on Myron’s shoulder. “You,” he said to Win, excited, licking his lips. “You shouldn’t threaten us.”