The Empress File

it,” she said. “You’re a big strong man.”
    “Fuck, LuEllen…” Now I
really
was sweating.
    “Hit it,” she said.
    I hit it. A half dozen blows distorted the door enough to see into it. LuEllen fitted the wedge into the seam of the door just above the lock, handed me the maul, and said, “One more time.”
    I hit it, and the door popped open. Breathing hard, I looked at LuEllen. She was standing with her arms crossed, waiting, not bored but not nervous either.
    Inside the safe we found a leather-bound book of stamps, a freezer bag full of currency, and a metal box filled with American gold coins in sealed packages. The stamp collection wasn’t much to look at—a few dozen fading squares ofred, blue, and green, each in its own archival envelope. We took it all.
    “Upstairs,” LuEllen said. She looked at her watch. “Seven minutes, thirty-five seconds.”
    Ballem had an aging computer setup almost identical to Dessusdelit’s. While I checked that, LuEllen tore apart the rest of the house. In the bedroom she found a collection of bondage and discipline magazines, both hetero- and homosexual, a new gun, a Smith & Wesson .357 magnum, fully loaded, and a flat metal box, like a safe-deposit box. Inside were a dozen gold Rolex watches, old but in perfect condition.
    “We’re killing this guy,” LuEllen said enthusiastically.
    “Good.”
    I was bringing the paint in from the garage when headlights swept the windows.
    “Car,” LuEllen said. She said it loudly, so I’d be sure to hear. I crouched and scuttled back into the house. LuEllen was against the front wall, peering out of a crack.
    “It’s the cops,” she said. “The driver’s coming up to the porch.”
    I heard him outside the door and slid over next to it. If he came in… I lifted the paint can above my head. I waited, and the doorbell rang.
    LuEllen’s face was motionless, pale, watching me from her window spot.
    The doorbell rang.
    LuEllen’s face, pale like the moon.
    The doorbell rang.
    My arms were aching.
    And the cop walked away.
    “He’s going,” LuEllen whispered. Then: “He’s gone.”
    “Jesus Christ,” I groaned, dropping the paint.
    “Fucking cops,” LuEllen said. She picked up the wrecking bar, dashed across the living room to the built-in shelves, and smashed them off the wall. She was in a frenzy, moving around the room, breaking everything breakable, knocking holes in the Sheetrock walls.
    “The paint,” she panted. “Dump the paint.”
    She went through the house like a dervish, while I threw the paint around. THIEF . CROOK . SUCK ON THIS . WHERE ’ S THE CITY MONEY ?
    “Let’s go,” she said when the paint was gone. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” She threw the wrecking bar on the rug, and I followed her back to the garage. At seventeen minutes and a few seconds we were out of the house.
    “That’s about the longest I’ve ever been inside a place,” she said. Her voice was half an octave lower than usual.
    “You sound a little… turned on.”
    She let that sit in the air for a minute, then said, “Yeah. I guess I am.”
    T HE LAST PART of our trip took us to the edge of town, to what had once been a farmhouse. It was set back from the blacktop, along a twisting dirt track that ran between overhanging trees. We’d made the phone call and got no answer.
    A black form crossed the driveway like a shadow from hell, and the hair stood up on my arms.
    “Look at that,” LuEllen said. “Jesus, look at…”
    There were three dogs, black and tan, pointed ears and noses.
    “Dobermans,” LuEllen said. “All three…”
    She rolled her window down a couple of inches, and the dogs were there, snapping, nobody to call them down. LuEllen reached over the backseat, got the steaks out, rolled the window down another inch, and pushed them out. The dogs were on them in an instant.
    “Eat, motherfuckers,” LuEllen said. She broke another cap herself. She wouldn’t look at me while she snorted it. “Eat.”
    Outside, the dogs were starting to wobble. Dobermans, when they’re in good condition, look semiskeletal, hard muscle rippled over a frame of bones, the whole thing held together by craziness and tension. When the tension goes, as it will when the load of barbiturates is big enough, the dogs seem to come apart.
    “Let’s go,” LuEllen said.
    I stepped gingerly out of the car and around one of the dogs. The dog could apparently pick up the motion because he made a weak attempt to react but