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“Were you there when Blass went through this?” I asked Malto.

“You don’t seem worried, Mr. Oliver.”

“Worry only helps before something goes wrong.”

“So, you admit making an error.”

I shrugged, testing my bonds enough to know that it was hopeless to struggle.

“You told Callie about Greta.” His tone was light enough.

Kenny came through the far door with a wooden folding chair under each arm. It was while he shook the chairs out for him and Malto that I noticed he also had a small drab-green oblong gym bag hanging from his right hand. The killer then took the pistol from his boss and sat down.

Malto stayed on his feet.

“I did,” I said in answer to Malto’s query.

“Why?”

“Because I needed to get your attention.”

“What if she hadn’t told me?”

“Then I’d’ve had to try somethin’ else.”

“Why go through all this?”

“Because I have information that I think you will pay for.”

The boss man chose this moment to sit.

“What information?”

“I’ll be happy to tell you, but I need a few answers first.”

Faster than I could register, Rouche jumped to his feet, moved close to me, then slapped the side of my head with his gun.

When my vision cleared, Malto was right there, looking at me.

“I’ll give you one question,” he said.

“Hey, man,” I complained. “Why we got to go through all this rigmarole just to talk?”

“I remember what you did to me,” Malto said as a threat.

“I didn’t chain you down or slam you in the head with a gun.”

“What do you have for me that will keep Kenny from killing you?”

“You mean you could assault an unconscious woman, but you won’t kill a man with your own hand?”

I expected Rouche to hit me.

He met that expectation.

I might have lost consciousness for a few seconds, or minutes. Whatever it was, I started talking as soon as I was able.

“I have information that you need.”