"Jesus fuckin' Christ!" The man who had been holding Tess loosened his grip, letting her up for air, just in time to smell something even less appealing than the poorly aged leather of his jacket. Esskay, overwhelmed by the evening's events, had emptied her bladder on the floor of the car. The armpit returned, dragging Tess back into its rancid world.

She muttered into the crook of his elbow: "If I promise to keep my head down in my own lap, would that be okay?"

No verbal reply, but the arm released her and she pressed her face into her thighs. Her black wool trousers carried a faint whiff of mothballs. Mothballs, and it was almost time to put them back in storage. It depressed her, yet another sign of incompetence on her part.

Beneath her, she felt the car make two right turns and a left, then head down a long straight-away marked by frequent intersections, judging by the stops every 100 feet or so, and more frequent potholes. This was probably meaningful information, but Tess had no idea what to do with it. The Oldsmobile also had bad shocks and a few empty cans of Miller Lite rolling around on the floor. Esskay whined at each jolt.

"Look, you've got the ears," she said. "Once you take them, there's nothing anyone can do to you. What else are you looking for? What do you want with my dog?"

Gravel Voice said, "The last thing we need is another fuckin' dog."

The man next to her shook with suppressed laughter; Tess felt the vibrations where their hips touched. Then the car was quiet, rolling to a stop in what appeared to be a long driveway.

It took a few seconds to stand straight again, once she was out of the car. Tess pretended to be stiffer than she was, which allowed her to steal a glance at the neighborhood as she stretched and stamped her feet as if they had fallen asleep. Large Victorians, set far back from the street, big lawns. Suburban, but not overly so. A block away, she could see the haze of streetlights along a fairly busy street. The traffic sound was constant, and they couldn't have driven more than twenty minutes. Catonsville, only a few miles due west of her parents' house. Either these guys didn't care if Tess knew where she was, or they didn't think she was going to have a chance to tell anyone.

They dragged her into a once-grand house, seedy after what appeared to be many months of vacancy. In the living room, with its high ceilings and old-fashioned chandelier, a man sat in a slightly ramshackle Morris chair, the only furniture in the room, holding a small dog in his lap. Tess didn't recognize the man, but she remembered the yapping dog from their encounter on South Street. Charlton? Carleton? Something like that. The dog had silky red-gold hair and an ugly rat face. The man had plain brown hair and an ugly rat face.

"We tried to tell you your uncle had things that didn't belong to him," the man in the Morris chair said. "I don't know why you couldn't help us recover our property sooner."

"I didn't know what you wanted. I only found the-them-on a hunch." She didn't want to say out loud what she had seen, what she had touched.

"But there is something else he has stolen from our employer, and it is urgent we find that as well."

"It might help if you told me what you were looking for. All this time, I thought you wanted my greyhound."

Morris Chair shook his head. His face was long and thin, with deep hollows in his cheeks that gave him a wasted look.

"This dog was part of an earlier program that proved to be too, uh, labor-intensive. It's of no interest to us, and frankly, neither are you. But I guess you're going to be our guest for a while. Perhaps your uncle's friend, the little dishwasher, will suddenly remember where our property is, if he has some incentive."

"Tommy doesn't know anything." Tess felt desperate, thinking of her fate in Tommy's hands, imagining Tommy opening up a box with, say, her index finger in it. He'd probably deep-fry it and serve it during Happy Hour. "You know, when I went out tonight, I told my aunt to call the police if I didn't return within the hour."

All the men laughed at that. Tess wasn't sure if they didn't believe her or were simply confident it didn't matter. Nonplused, she gave Esskay a little slack on her leash, hoping the dog might pee on someone's leg. But the greyhound simply stared with bright eyes at Morris Chair, her brain's signals almost audible. Dinner, dinner, dinner. Tess would have been hungry, too, if her stomach wasn't so tight with fear.

"You won't be returning within the hour," Morris Chair advised her. "You won't be returning at all until your uncle's friend cooperates."

His lap dog jumped to the floor and sniffed her owner's shoes. Shiny slip-ons, sort of like patent leather bedroom slippers. And he wore a leather blazer, fingertip length, over a navy blue polyester sports shirt. All the men were dressed the same, more or less. Leather jackets or blazers, knit shirts, polyester pants, and shiny, soft loafers. Despite herself, Tess wondered where they shopped.

"Now, are you sure you don't have any ideas about where else your uncle might have hidden something?"

The little dog saw something move near the fireplace-a roach, a rat, a shadow-and gave chase, yapping excitedly. Tess felt a strange burning sensation against her palm as Esskay's metal chain jerked through her fingers before she could grab it. The greyhound had joined the hunt. But Esskay didn't want the small dog's prey. She wanted the small dog, whom she quickly trapped in the corner.

"Charlton!" Morris Chair screamed, rising from his chair. Too late. Esskay sank her teeth into the dog's soft belly, shaking it ferociously from side to side. The race was won! And Esskay had caught the rabbit, something no other dog at the track had ever done. She was almost delirious with joy, prancing around the room like a majorette.

Morris Chair made a horrible keening sound. The three other men rushed into the fray, then backed away, unsure what to do. Esskay kept her jaws clamped on the smaller dog, shaking it as if it were a small dust mop. Tess began edging toward the door, but stopped when she saw one of the men, the tall one who had first grabbed her, reach into his jacket and pull out a gun.

"Are you crazy?" she screamed, pushing past him and seizing Esskay by the snout, forcing her jaws open easily. After all, this wasn't a pit bull, or a Rottweiler. There was no strength here, no danger, nothing to fear except halitosis. The smaller dog writhed on the floor, possibly in shock, but the only visible damage were two small puncture wounds to its abdomen.

"Charlton," Morris Chair whimpered, when she picked up the little dog and handed it to him.

"There's a twenty-four-hour vet not far from here," Tess offered, surprised that she could feel some empathy for the man and his hideous little dog. "Out Route 40." Her three captors just stared blankly at her, as Morris Chair cradled Charlton in his arms.

"It's probably the road you brought me here on," she explained. "At least, I think that's the route, unless we came out Frederick Road. Route 40 runs off the Beltway, parallel to Frederick, you can't miss it. The vet is opposite the Toys R Us."

"You stay here with her," Morris Chair told Leather Jacket number 1, the tall one who had grabbed Tess in her parents' garage, as he rushed out, followed by Gravel Voice and Leather Jacket number 2.

"He loves that dog," her remaining captor said, putting his gun on the mantel, as if to remind Tess it was still at hand. "Anything happens to it, your dog's dead. Probably oughta be put down anyway, vicious as it is."

He spoke without irony, this thug who had kidnapped her, beaten her her uncle, and tried to shoot Esskay.

"I think Charlton'll be okay. It was only a puncture wound." She sank into the vacated Morris chair, her knees a little wobbly. Esskay tucked her nose under her elbow, looking for the treat she was sure she deserved.