Shame

fucking clothes. Now!”
    Junior didn’t answer, but he did stand up. Feral moved quietly behind him. Keep him guessing. But now the lights were in Feral’s eyes as well. And he was casting a shadow. If Junior turned, he’d be able to see it and him. But Junior looked as if he was too scared to move. He was just standing there like a statue. Or maybe he was just being stubborn and thought that making like stone would spare him from stripping. Feral raised his gun again and fired it.
    He moved out of the glare of the lights back into the darkness. Now Junior’s arms were in the air. He was surrendering. As if he hadn’t already.
    “No more warning shots,” Feral said. “Take off your clothes. Now.”
    Junior reached down to his shoes and started untying them. He kicked one off, and then the other.
    “That’s it,” said Feral, his voice coming from yet another spot. “I want you to prove to me there’s nothing up your sleeve. You’ll do that by stripping down to nothing.”
    Junior took off his coat.
    “Toss it away from you,” Feral said. “Do that with all your clothes.”
    He did as instructed. It took him a few tries, but he finally loosened his belt, and his pants fell. He kicked his trousers away, then just stood there.
    “Everything comes off,” Feral said. “Everything.”
    Junior was apparently modest. That didn’t surprise Feral. He watched him reach for his briefs, hesitate, then reluctantly drop his underwear to the ground.
    “Finding it a bit cold, are you?” said Feral, laughing.
    Junior started unbuttoning his shirt, or tried to. His hands were shaking so much that he was having a hard time with the buttons. He turned away from the wind, offering his back to the lights, and Feral. The wind didn’t let up. It gusted, blowing hard at the shirt, pushing it up, exposing his back. Feral was reminded of Marilyn Monroe’s stepping on a subway grate and the breeze blowing up her dress in much the same way. Hollywood had used the scene to showcase her legs. But something was bothering Feral. He wished he could see better. The fog was playing tricks on his eyes. He thought he had glimpsed...
    The telephone started ringing.
    Feral’s arms shot up. Reflex thing. He’d almost pulled the trigger. Goddammit. The ringing was unexpected and ill timed. It was like an alarm had gone off in his ear. Goddamn Queenie’s phone. Who the hell was calling?
    Maybe it was a wrong number.
    Maybe it signaled trouble.
    The phone was ringing for a second time when he saw a movement. From the corner of his eyes he could see Junior making a break for it. Feral didn’t hesitate. He fired his gun, stopping Junior three steps into his escape attempt.
    “Son of a bitch!” Feral screamed. “Move another inch and you’re fucking dead.”
    The phone rang a third time.
    “Get on your fucking knees. Down, I said. Now crawl back to where you were.”
    The phone rang a fourth time, then stopped ringing. Feral looked at it suspiciously, as if not trusting the silence, then turned his full attention to the sprawled captive.
    “You better keep yourself fucking planted there,” he said. “I’m not going to miss next time. And take off the rest of your fucking clothes now.”
    The phone started ringing again.
    Not a wrong number, no. The cellular phone was Queenie’s emergency number. So what was the emergency?
    Third ring.
    Feral glanced quickly at Junior. He was still on his knees. He was looking away from the lights, had his backside facing Feral. The pose reminded Feral of the way subordinate primates presented themselves.
    “Turn around,” Feral barked.
    Junior started to do that, inch by trembling inch. The only clothing he still had on was a baseball cap. He hadn’t been wearing a cap earlier in the night, Feral remembered.
    Fourth ring.
    Feral pressed down to accept the call, but he said nothing. He could hear the breathing of the caller on the line, and then there was the voice, but not just any voice.
    “You son of a bitch,” she said.
    Queenie’s voice. Feral felt as if he had been struck. How the hell had she gotten free? This was bad—impossibly bad.
    Feral threw a quick glance Junior’s way. No threat there. He was naked, in shock, sitting on his backside and hugging his chest.
    “Before the police arrest you,” Queenie said, “and they will momentarily, I’d like to take advantage of this wonderful interview opportunity.”
    “How did you get out?” Feral asked.
    “I’m the one asking