I was awake now, my head filling with subjects I might offer for discussion once we got out of whatever this was. Like maybe the fact that this situation could not have come up had we made our nest at my house.

I was like liquid getting out of bed. Silently flowing. Not even a gurgle. I armed myself with an oaken head knocker that no amount of fussing or whining had compelled me to divorce.

Just in time.

The bedroom door opened with a faint creak. I was behind it, wound up. The villain entering carried a damped-down lantern. That cast just enough light for someone whose night vision had fully adapted. It revealed Tinnie lying there mostly uncovered and wearing nothing, apparently asleep. An impressive sight, I've got to admit.

Lucky me, I'd seen it enough not to be distracted. Much.

"There's something wrong here, Butch." The whisperer leaned in just far enough to offer the back of his mostly bald head.

I seized the day, whacked that mole. Down he went. I spun around the edge of the door--to stare down the length of twelve pounds of razor-edged steel. I couldn't imagine anybody having forged a sword that big. The eyes behind that monster did not belong to somebody in a merciful mood, nor even somebody truly sane.

Tinnie uncovered the goods, arrogantly showing off how lucky Garrett was. The eyes that knew no mercy did recognize those marvels when they saw them.

Clang! That blade brushed aside. Thump! A solid whack to the temple. Half a minute to make sure the villains didn't come back on us. Then, "Trollop."

"How's your health, big boy?" She had some clothes on, now. She had become the promise, not the literal truth.

"I had him."

"Sure, you did. Just a little insurance."

"Something to tell the grandkids about."

"Garrett. What the hell is going on? Are you into something? You promised. What are you into?"