I sit down, pop a piece of spearmint gum and watch the woman across from me.

She's nervous. Her hands are fretting in her lap, and her eyes are bloodshot.

Long night, I ask. She looks up, timidly. Her face is a wash and anxiety.

She doesn't understand what's going on. She doesn't understand what she's doing here,

sitting inside an abandoned warehouse with an asshole twice her age. It's fine. I've seen it before.

Look, I say, loosening the tie around my neck. It's just like I said. I only want to ask you a few

questions, and you can go. Why here, she says in a small voice. This looks like the kind of place

you take me to. I don't know. Murder me. I crack a smile. She isn't wrong. You don't like it.

It's private. Besides that, it's probably the safest place in the world for you.

Why? Do you have snipers on the rafters? Their sarcasm in her voice. But her eyes still

flick to the dimly lit steel walkways lining the walls. She pulls her sweater tighter around her,

shivering at the draft. Or is this some secret government fortress?

No, and no. I lean back in the wooden chair, and it groans under my neck. I'm not as slim as I used to be.

It's much simpler, I say. This warehouse is the safest place for you, because I'm inside of it.

It's not a lie, at least, not entirely. Still, she gives me an incredulous look.

It's the sort of look one reserves for blowhards and narcissists, and I probably deserve it. Time to

change gears. Tell me about the event. She studies me for several moments, then shakes her head.

On second thought, she says, picking up her purse. I think I'd prefer talking to the police.

She stands up, makes to leave, and I don't stop her. Her footfalls echo across the empty warehouse.

The haphazard lighting casting her shadow in every direction. I hear her mutter something beneath

her breath, but I can't make out the words. I probably don't want to. Then she stops. They always do.

What's an event? She asks quietly. I click my pen, and reach down for my clipboard with a

...