"You didn't have to shoot him," I said. The pistol disappeared back into her handbag. "Don't be such a baby," she said. Her tone got dangerous: "Why are you taking out your phone?"

"I have to report this to the police," I said. "Ah, wait, put that gun back in your purse."

"I'm not gonna let you rat me out to the fuzz," she said, distinctly not putting the gun back in her purse.

"And I refuse to be an accessory to murder."

"You think you're not already?" she said.

"Obviously I am, but I'd like to lay a trail of plausible deniability," I said. "Also, who says, 'rat me out to--' Hello, I'd like to report some gunshots." Once I'd finished telling them something technically true, I hung up.

"They're gonna question you. They'll trip you up on some detail and you'll give me up."

"Darling, don't you remember how good I am at stories that hang together?"

"Damn straight I do, cheating bastard."

"Then don't sweat it."

"Do that again," she said, "and you'll be hunting the idol from my trunk."

"I'm going to have to pretend you kidnapped me when this is all over, aren't I?"

"Pretend?"