Q came back and poured himself a cognac.

"She'll be out for a few hours. I sedated her."

"And when did you get your medical degree?"

"I have many talents."

"I hope one of them is making Biggie appear."

"Sorry, I'm afraid I can't pull that off right now. Want another coffee or a drink?"

"I think I better stick with coffee." I held up my empty cup for a refill. "Okay, spill it. Tell me what you've done so far."

"When Biggie and Nick were a no-show at White Castle, Stella called Biggie's phone. No answer. Then she called me asking if they'd showed up here. I called Nick's s number. No answer. By then, we knew we had a problem."

"Where was I when all this was going on?" I asked.

"It was after 11. You were in snooze-ville."

"And you didn't wake me. Why?"

"Dealing with one hysterical woman was enough. It was my call."

"Then what did you do?" I asked, ignoring the inference that I am a hysterical woman.

"We called all the hospitals in a five-mile radius."

"And?"

"One John Doe showed up by ambulance to Rush Emergency at about the right time. It's Nick. We ID'd him."

"Car accident?" I asked.

"Tire iron or baseball bat. Hard to tell. His head looks like road-kill. They got him in an induced coma. No guarantees he'll make it, and even if he does, he'll likely be jacked up."

"A positive ID?"

"Hard to miss with the tats and needle marks. It's him. Here's what was found at the scene." He pulled a bloodied plastic bag from under the counter. Inside was Biggie's shoes and handbag and the clothes they cut off Nick. I recognized them.

"We got the address of where the paramedics found Nick. We checked it out. They were both there. The bartender confirmed it. We talked to the two tweakers that found them. A twenty-dollar bill loosened their tongues. They ID'd Biggie by a picture I carry."

"You carry a picture of Biggie?"

"Yeah," he said and showed me a picture of her taken at our cottage in Wisconsin.

It was a few years old, but she was sitting on the dock fishing with a cane pole. I remember because she refused to bait the hook. She couldn't bear to hurt a fish.

"Do you carry a picture of me?" I said, handing the wallet back.

"No," he said. "I got you right here." And, he tapped his index finger against his temple.

"I'll accept that. What happened next?"

"They spooked her, and she ran. Stella took off on her motorcycle. Rode up and down every street and alley in the area for a few hours. No one's seen her. I stopped a couple of squad cars. Told them to be on the lookout. Currently, she's in the wind."

"Was she hurt? Beat up?"

"Not according to the two dudes. Nothing obvious."

Good news, I thought. Better than the alternative. A straw to grasp. I was running out of idioms. Maybe I could say a prayer? Light a candle? Get down on my hands and knees and beg forgiveness. But God and I had parted ways long ago. I was unworthy of redemption. Or, maybe God just didn't like me. Hell, I didn't even like me.

I put my pity party on hold. "Now what?" I asked, snubbing out my cigarette and lighting a fresh one.

"Tomorrow, we canvas the area with posters offering a reward."

"You mean today," I said, hugging Trevor close to me.

"Yeah, today."

"And, by the way. I'm not the hysterical type," I said.

"Depends," he said. "I'm gonna catch a few winks."

"Q, do you pray?"

"Yes," he said.

"Good. Try not to mention my name."

Later in the day, Stella and Q hit every wall and lamp post with Biggie's picture and the promise of a reward. I called in every favor I could recall. It was the best I could do. That, and try not to act hysterical.

To be continued..