Randy must have found a frame shop, Qatar thought. One that was big with faux everything. "Pretty amazing, Randy."

Randy backed up to the railing next to the stairs, steadied himself, and studied the room as if suddenly puzzled. Something missing? He took it in for another few seconds, then shouted, "Hey, bitch, get out here."

A minute later, a too-thin blond girl padded out of a back hallway. She might have been sixteen, Qatar thought. She was round-shouldered with defeat, and barefoot, and said apologetically, "I just had to pee, Randy."

"Yeah, well, get me and my friend a beer. Make it fuckin' quick. And wash your hands first."

"You want it in glasses?" The question came out as a whine.

"Of course we want it in fuckin' glasses. And they best be clean." He said to Qatar, "I ain't got her fully broke yet."

Qatar nodded and tried not to look embarrassed; and in fact, he wasn't much. "I've got some stuff for you."

"Let's see it… Jim." Qatar handed him the little bag of jewelry, and Randy shook it out into his hand; the hand was suddenly steady. "What's it worth?"

"I've been checking the jewelry stores. I should get three thousand. You should get six from Chicago. Both the diamond and the emerald are real."

"Okay. I got no cash right now. I get it to you day after tomorrow." He put the jewelry back in the bag, slipped the bag into his pocket, and said, "Hey, look at this." He picked up a T-shaped remote control and pointed it at the fireplace. A fire sprang up. "Just like TV: real fire. Even looks like real logs in there, but it's gas. But it looks like real logs. You can get some shit that you sprinkle in there, and it smells like burning wood."

The woman came out of the kitchen with two glasses of beer and two bottles balanced on a round tray. She did it well enough that Qatar thought she must've worked as a waitress somewhere, though she looked too young.

"Beers," she said.

"Look at this," Randy said. He turned one of the bottles. " 'Special Export.' "

"You're doing well, my friend," Qatar said.

"I am doin' well." Randy looked at the woman and said, "Sit on the floor." She sat, and Randy and Qatar both had a sip of beer, and then Randy said, "You got any cash on you?"

Qatar's eyebrows went up. "A little, not much."

"How much?"

"Fifty dollars, maybe."

"Got a cash card?"

"Well…"

"What's your limit?"

"Four hundred," Qatar said, mentally kicking himself the moment the words were out of his mouth.

Randy looked at him for a moment, then said, "I tell you what happened. I started partying at six o'clock and I run out of cash. So I went to a cash machine and I partied some more and then I run out of cash again, and I was at my daily limit. So then I borrowed some, and pretty soon I ran out of that, and then nobody would give me no more even though I just gotta wait until tomorrow before my cash card works again."

"Hmm," Qatar said. He thought about asking for the jewelry back, but Randy was pretty coked and had a tendency to get excited.

"So… I ain't asking for a loan. I want to sell you something," Randy said.

"What? I mean, I really don't need-"

"Her," Randy said, nodding at the woman on the floor. She looked at Qatar but said nothing.

Qatar said, "I don't fool around with prostitutes. I mean, I've got nothing against it, but I worry about AIDS and syphilis and gonorrhea and herpes."

Randy put a hand to his chest, offended. "Randy ain't gonna give you the clap, man. Randy ain't gonna give you the clap. You ain't gonna get the clap sticking your dick down her throat. No way you're gonna get the clap from doing that."

"Well, I…" Qatar looked at the woman again and shook his head. She was his type, he couldn't deny that-although a little dirty-looking, like she should use some cleanser on her feet. The thing was, Barstad was wearing him out. He hadn't had a random sexual thought in days.

"She'll do anything you want, Dick." When Qatar turned to look at Randy, Randy nodded and said, "Anything."

"Man, I appreciate it…"

Randy couldn't believe he was being turned down. He turned to the woman and said, "Stand up, bitch. Take off the clothes and show the man what you got."

The woman stood up and started shedding her clothes. Pulled her sweatshirt over her head, pulled off her jeans, popped off her bra, peeled off her underpants, and then stood in front of Randy, looking at his face. Said nothing. All her pubic hair had been shaved off, and Qatar noticed that she was developing a rash. Ingrown hair, he thought, almost sympathetically. Something about that part-the rash-stirred him. She seemed so helpless. Unformed.

"She do anything," Randy said again.

Qatar noticed that Randy now had a sheen of sweat on his face. His physical condition seemed to change from minute to minute, and when he picked up his beer again, he picked it up with both hands. "I'll make you a deal," Qatar said. "You may not like it."

"What is it?" Randy asked.

"If you give me give five thousand for the jewelry, plus my four hundred dollars back-five thousand, four hundred dollars total, next week-I'll get the money out of the machine right now."

"You fuckin' kike," Randy shouted. He laughed, excited, and jumped up. "You got it, Dick. You got it."

"But you gotta get me the money, Randy," Qatar said. "Honest to God, it'd really hurt me if I didn't get it. I'm in a jam, too."

"You'll get it, baby," Randy brayed. Spit flew out of his mouth. "I never let you down. You a fuckin' client. Five thousand, four hundred dollars. You get it in two days, soon as the delivery boy comes from St. Louis."

St. Louis? They looked at each other for a moment, then Qatar shrugged. "All right."

"Yes," Randy shouted, pumping a fist. He didn't seem to notice that he was shouting.

"Can I come with you?" the woman asked.

"Shut the fuck up," Randy screamed. He pointed a trembling finger at her. "You can't go outside until you gots a name, bitch, and you ain't got one." To Qatar: "I ain't figured her name out yet."

"Okay… So…"

"So let's go, Dick. Let's get the fuck outa here."

Qatar was now Dick-because Randy had used "dick" in a sentence? He wasn't sure, but looking at Randy leaning against the passenger-side window blubbering to himself, he was very sure that Randy had gone over some unseen edge.

They went to a cash machine at a branch bank on Grand Avenue. Qatar took out four hundred dollars in twenties, and as he pulled it out of the machine, Randy snatched it away from him and then backed away, said, "Get the fuck away from me. Get the fuck away."

"Randy, Randy…"

Randy jammed the money into his pants and asked, "You know who you're fuckin' with, motherfucker? I'll hunt you down like a dirty dog, you fuck with me."

"Okay, okay…" Qatar held up his hands. He was leaving. "I'll see you in a couple of days."

Then Randy came back: "Ain't you gonna drop me?"

"I thought, uh…"

"You can't leave me out here on the fuckin' street, man. Where's my money?"

"In your pocket."

Randy dug in his pocket, found it. "Sonofabitch. I had it all the time. Let's go."

On the way, Randy pressed his hands to his temples, looked at Qatar, and blurted, "I made a garland for her head and bracelets too and fragrant zone. She looked at me as she did love and made sweet moan."

"What?"

"I made a garland for her head…"

Randy's brain was missing a few links, Qatar thought. Even so, he knew where he was going. He would point at corners and say, "There," and "There, that way." He said, "Over there, Richard… Can I call you Richard?"

In five minutes they were idling in front of an apartment on Como Boulevard. Randy hopped out and said, perfectly rationally, "You can come in if you like, but they mostly brothers. They don't like white boys that good."