“He got rid of his butcher shop?”

“He still has it. But why would he get into meatpacking? It seems like every day you read about a meatpacker going out of business. The problem, shortages and price controls, the armed forces taking a third of what meat’s available.”

“Ask him,” Honey said, “if he’s a traitor to his country, or he’s selling meat on the black market and making a pile of money.”

She pushed up from the sofa and headed for the bedroom telling the special agent, “I’ll be ten minutes, Kev. Drive me to work, I’ll tell you why I married Walter.”

Kevin walked over to Honey’s bookcase and began looking at titles, most of them unknown to him, and saw Mein Kampf squeezed between For Whom the Bell Tolls and This Gun for Hire. He pulled out Adolf Hitler’s book and began skipping through pages of dense-looking text full of words. He turned to the short hallway that led to Honey’s bedroom.

“Did you read Mein Kampf?”

There was a silence.

“I’m sorry-what did you say?”

He crossed to the hallway not wanting to shout and came to her bedroom, the door open, and saw Honey at her vanity.

“I asked if you read Mein Kampf. ”

“I didn’t, and you know why?”

She was leaning toward the mirror putting on lipstick, the kimono on Honey in the mirror hanging open and he could see one of her breasts, the nipple, the whole thing.

“Because it’s so fucking boring,” Honey said. “I tried a few times and gave up.”

He saw her looking in the mirror at him, holding the lipstick to her mouth, and saw her move the kimono enough to cover the breast.

She said, “I don’t think you’d like it.”