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“So what?”

“You did and I got men with guns on my ass. I don’t give a fuck about you and your boy-toy, but with this trouble I need to know that Aja’s safe. You did leave, didn’t you?”

“Yes. But I’m not telling you where.”

“As long as you’re outta state, I don’t care. Now, let me speak to A.D.”

“Her name is Denise!”

“Hi, Dad,” Aja said a few moments later.

“Don’t tell your mother about anything I’m doing at work, okay?”

“Did I cause this problem?”

“No. But don’t tell your mom that either.”

“Okay. Are you all right?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. You didn’t use your phone to call, right?”

“Of course not. I bought this pay-as-you-go phone at a drugstore.”

“You’re a smart cookie.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

“Me too,” I said. “Talk to you soon.”

There was an upper floor to the onetime house of worship. Little cells for the devout priests or parsons—whatever the denomination was. My feet hung over the edge of the cot, but I didn’t mind. The door wasn’t locked and through the small window a half-moon shone brightly.

I didn’t sleep. Just lay back with one knee up and moonlight on my face. My newly shaved head itched a little and my little girl was safe. I had survived a slaughter and murdered a man. All that and life was still the best it could be.

I got out of bed at around 4:30 and went down to the kitchen, where Mel was drinking coffee at the table.

“Got a car I can use?” I asked him.

“Copper Lexus in the stable.”

“Stable?”

“Behind the church. You know this is an old institution.”

“You going in to work?” I asked.

“If you don’t need me later I will.”

“You got a typewriter around here?” I asked.

“Word processor and a printer.”

“I guess that’ll have to do.”

I drove via Brooklyn to Manhattan’s Upper West Side before the traffic was a bear. There, on Eighty-Third, I found a coffee shop that made western omelets but had run out of real bacon. So along with the eggs I had strips of turkey pressed, salted, and dyed to look like and taste something like bacon.

There was a storefront across the street that had been rented out on a temporary basis. I dithered over the bad food and weak coffee until a man I recognized walked into the pop-up campaign office.

“May I help you?” a young woman asked. She was quite dark-skinned. Upon her blueberry blouse was a big square button that proclaimed, ACRES IS OUR MAN!