Sandy looked at Smith for a moment before replying.

“Look, Smith,” he said, “It’s been a long fuckin’ night, you know? I’m tired. My hand hurts. My jaw hurts. My chest hurts where I got burns. My shirt’s tore up. I haven’t had any sleep in, what, twenty-four hours, at least. I’m going to go home and get some rest, and then I’m going to come back here when I wake up, and then we can go after the fuckers again. You don’t look that good yourself, y’know; are you really in that big a hurry to eat more of that stuff?”

Smith glanced about, and realized that Khalil, too, had stood up.

“No,” Smith said, “No, I guess not. If you go to sleep now you should be up again by late afternoon, right? And you’ll come back here and we’ll still have a couple of hours of full daylight, right?”

“Right,” Sandy said, slapping him on the shoulder. “And Smith, get some sleep yourself, okay? You look like hell.”

“Yeah, sure,” Smith agreed.

Annie had listened to this without comment as she filled a bowl with cornflakes, sugar, and milk, and poured a large glass of juice. Now she looked up and said, “Sleep well, Mr. Niklasen, and you, too, Mr. Saad, and you’re welcome back whenever you like, until you get this all taken care of.”

“Thanks, Annie,” Sandy said as he left.

“Thank you, Mrs. McGowan,” Khalil said as he followed.

Smith stared down at his almost-empty cup.

“Will you be going, too, Mr. Smith?” Annie asked.

“No hurry,” he said. He picked up the cup.

His hand shook.

“Mr. Smith, you’re exhausted, aren’t you?” Annie asked.

He nodded. “I suppose I am,” he said. “I haven’t been getting much sleep lately. One of those things was after me for five nights running, and I haven’t made up for it yet.”

“Are you sure you can drive yourself home safely?”

“Not going home,” Smith told her. “They’re there. I’ve been staying in a motel.”

“Oh, well, that’s no good!” Annie said. “Listen, I have a perfectly good guest room upstairs, and nobody’s using it, since you put poor Maggie on the couch; you go on up and get yourself some sleep! It’s the door on the right at the top of the stairs, next to the bathroom. You go on!”

He looked at her gratefully. “Ms. McGowan, I’d love to, but all my stuff is back at the motel…”

“Well, fooey, so what? They aren’t going to throw it out just because you’re out for the day! You can go get it later. For now you just go right upstairs and get some sleep!”

“Uh… I need to call in sick at work, too, and there won’t be anyone there until nine…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it! Just sleep! Mr. Niklasen was right, you do look awful!”

He nodded, and got unsteadily to his feet.

“On the right?” he said.

“On the right,” she confirmed, “right next to the bathroom.”

The room was pink and lacy and the bed was fluffy and cool, and he barely managed to get his shoes off.

2.

When he awoke it took him a long moment to remember where he was.

The blinds were drawn and the room was dim, all faded pink and soft grey shadows. He lay atop a high four-poster, on a quilted pink comforter, still in his sweat-stained, soiled, and stinking clothes. Around the edges of old-fashioned roller shades light seeped in through layered pink gauze curtains, but failed to really illuminate the room.

The furniture was imitation French Empire, in cream and gilt, while the throw rugs and lampshades and upholstery were dusty rose. A chair stood in each corner, a nightstand on either side of the bed, a vanity table with a triple mirror against one wall.

He sat up, and realized that he felt better than he had in days. He remembered the morning’s discussion around Annie’s breakfast table, and he wondered how long he had slept.

He was still wearing his watch; he looked at it, and saw 5:40.

That was late. He’d slept the whole day away!

He swung his feet off the bed and stood up, and it seemed as if he had those feet planted more firmly than he had in days. A good long sleep, without interruption, had been what he needed.

A shower and a shave and a change of clothes wouldn’t hurt, either, he thought, as he felt his shirt stick to his back.

He wasn’t going to get any of those here, though; his clothes and razor were back at the motel, or in his apartment, and he didn’t want to take a shower and then put the same smelly old clothes back on again.

He wandered out into the hallway and looked down the stairs.

He saw no one, but he thought he heard someone moving quietly about.

“Hello,” he called, “Anybody home?”

A moment later Annie’s head appeared in the archway to the living room.

“Hello, Mr. Smith,” she called. “Feeling any better?”

He nodded. “Much better, thanks.” He started down the stairs.

“I was just trying to decide what to do about dinner,” she said. “I had thought that Mr. Niklasen and Mr. Saad might be here by now, and I didn’t know if they’d have eaten or not – and of course, I didn’t know when you’d be waking up.”

Smith’s stomach growled. “I don’t know about dinner,” he said, “I mean, I don’t want to put you to any trouble, but I could use something to eat.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” Annie said, hurrying into the kitchen. “I’ll just make something for the two of us, and if anyone else turns up… well, I’ll worry about that if it happens.”

Smith knew that the polite thing to do would be to protest further, but his stomach let him know that it wasn’t interested in being polite. “Is there anything I can help with?” he asked.

“Oh, you might start the coffee, if you’ll want any – I’ll be having tea.” Annie was bustling about, closing the oven door and turning knobs, throwing something green in a saucepan and plopping it onto the stove.

“Where’s Maggie?” Smith asked, as he located the coffeemaker.

While he looked about for the coffee, Annie said, “Oh, she went home first thing this morning.”

“Ah,” Smith said. “Where’s the coffee?”

Annie pointed to the cabinet directly above the coffeemaker; he opened it, and a packet of coffee filters fell out onto the counter, revealing a can of Folger’s.

The doorbell chimed.

“I’ll get it,” Annie said, hurrying past him.

Smith busied himself with the coffeemaker, but looked up a moment later to see Khalil and Sandy standing in the hallway. They both wore fresh clothes, reminding him that he did not. Sandy was looking about as if he had never seen the place before.

Smith slid the coffeepot into place and ambled toward the hall.

“I just now started dinner cooking,” Annie was saying as he approached, “And I can throw a couple more in the oven if you like.”

“That’s all right,” Sandy said, “I already ate.”

“And you, Mr. Saad?”

“I would be pleased to eat with you,” Khalil replied.

“Well, that’s fine, then. It’s nothing fancy, just chicken filets, from a frozen package, you know, I didn’t make it myself. Let me put another in the oven.” She marched into the kitchen, past Smith, and headed for the freezer.

“Hi,” Smith said to the two new arrivals. “I thought you’d be here sooner than this.”

“I thought so, too,” Khalil said. “Sandy said this morning he would come and fetch me, so I waited, but he did not come. So I went and fetched him, and here we are.”

Startled, Smith looked at Sandy.

“I forgot,” Sandy said defensively, “All right? I overslept and I forgot. We’re here now, right? So what does it matter?”

Smith shrugged. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, “You’re right. So what’s on for tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Sandy said.

“Are we going back for the other two at the Samaan house?” Smith asked.

Then Sandy’s reply penetrated, and he looked at Sandy more closely.

Up until now, Sandy had always known what he was doing, even when it was entirely the wrong thing. Forgetfulness and oversleeping seemed out of character.