Last Call

"So you like to film women getting raped, huh?"

"No."

"Does that get you off?"

"It's not what you think."

"How many other rape victims have you plastered on the Internet?"

"Just her. I mean none – not even her." Gilford swallowed hard. "Please, man. Don't do this."

"If my mother had said that, would you have stopped filming?

"That was thirty-five years ago. You want to hear me say I'm sorry? Okay, I'm sorry. Really, I'm very, very sorry."

"What was his name?"

"Whose name?"

"The guy who raped her."

"I don't know."

Theo pulled the trigger and released. Gilford screamed. The bit was through the dermal layer. A spot of blood emerged. "Last chance," said Theo.

"I swear, man. I don't know!"

"Cy don't have time to waste here, damn it!" Theo twisted the ski

He pressed the tip to Gilford's forehead.

"Who is he?" said Theo.

Gilford was about to hyperventilate, his eyes crossing as they followed the bit. "I don't know. Really. I don't, I don't know!"

Theo pulled the trigger, the drill whined, and the spiraling tip of the bit tore at Gilford's flesh.

"Fernando Redden!" he shouted.

Theo pulled back. "Say it again."

"Fernando Redden. That's his name."

"If you're lying to me…"

"No, no. That's him. Really, truly. I wouldn't make this up." He was blubbering now, tears streaming down his face.

Theo glared just enough to put the final scare into him. "It's your lucky night," he said, as he put the drill away. "I believe you."

TRINA DIDN'T KNOW WHERE Theo was.

Jack called her at home to explain what had happened. Theo was up to something dangerous, and if Jack couldn't stop him, the chances that Trina could talk some sense into him probably weren't any better. But she promised to try. She drove to Theo's town house and was inside waiting when he came through the door. The expression on his face was unlike any she'd seen on him before. It scared her.

He said, "What are you doing here?"

It wasn't the warmest of greetings, but it didn't stop her from going to him and hugging him tightly. "Jack told me," she said softly, her lips to his ear. "Do you know anything? Is Uncle Cy okay?"

The mention of Cy seemed to trigger something inside him. She could feel his initial resistance to her touch fading, and he hugged her back.

"I'm just tryin' to sort this out," he said. "Gotta do somethin'."

"Like what?"

He didn't answer. She slipped out of his embrace so that she could look into his eyes. "Where have you been?"

He seemed to struggle, as if debating whether to tell her. Then he looked away and started up the stairs.

Trina followed him to the bedroom. "Theo, talk to me."

He went to the walk-in closet and flipped on the light. Trina stayed behind, sat on the edge of the bed, and waited.

People often thought of her as fearless, or at least rough around the edges. Like everyone else, however, Trina had her demons. The last person she'd let herself care about so deeply was her friend Beatriz – not a romantic interest, but a teenage friend that she loved like a sister. Back before the Soviet Union fell, they went from Cuba to Prague on Castro's factory work program. Their plan was to defect, each pledging never to leave without the other. Only Trina made it, and even after all these years, she still bore the scars of survivorship.

"Theo?" she said.

He didn't come out, but finally he did answer her from somewhere deep in the closet. "Let me take care of this," he said.

Trina didn't know how to get through to him in this mode, but she had to say something. She rose and staked out a position in the closet doorway, arms folded, as if daring him to try and pass.

Theo was kneeling on the floor. He looked up and stopped what he was doing. The corner of the wall-to-wall carpeting had been rolled back, and the secret hatch to Theo's in-floor safe was open. He was holding a black pistol in one hand and several ammunition clips in the other.

Trina said, "Have you lost your mind?"

"Maybe," he said, as he closed the safe. "But I ain't go

He rose, pulled a leather holster off the shelf, and strapped it on. The gun fit perfectly on his left side for a right-handed draw. He selected a lightweight jacket to conceal his weapon.

He turned and looked at Trina, as if expecting her approval, or at least her acquiescence.

She said, "You think you can solve this all by yourself?"

"Ain't nobody else go

"Jack thinks you should call the cops," she said.

"Sometimes Jack thinks too much."

"I don't like this."

He didn't answer. It was a little too warm outside for a leather jacket, but the bulkier garment seemed better suited to his purposes. He stepped past her and checked himself in the mirror again.

"I'm talking to you," she said.

He turned to face her, his arms extended and his hands resting on her shoulders as he looked straight at her. "You have to trust me on this."

"I don't understand it."

"If it was you instead of Cy would you understand it then?"

She didn't know how to answer. She just held him. "I love you," she said. "I think."

He smiled a little and said, "Me thinks too." Then he pulled away and retrieved a pen and notepad from the nightstand. She watched him jot something down and fold the paper into thirds. Then he gave it to her.

Theo said, "If something happens, you call Jack, and you give him this name."

She started to unfold it, but he stopped her. "Just give it to Jack," he said.

"What is this?"

"Jack will figure it out."

She hugged him again, this time with a kiss.

"I'll see ya," he said, and he walked out of the room.

Trina sat on the bed and listened to the thud of each footfall on the stairs, the sound of the door opening – and then for a moment there was silence. In her mind's eye she could see him standing in the doorway, maybe rethinking things.

Then she heard the door close, and Theo was gone.

Her eyes closed slowly and then she opened them, trying to deal with the confusion on every level. It seemed so obvious that Theo was doing the wrong thing, yet she felt certain that there was nothing else he could do.

Her hand shook as she unfolded the paper and read Theo's note. Trying to think through her next move rationally would have been pointless.

She followed her gut, picked up the telephone, and dialed Jack's number.