“Is his wife showing any signs of reconciliation?”

“Not so far, but my mother said she‘d make me a tray of lasagna and come over to clean my house if I kept him another day.”

“Are you going to keep him?”

“Yeah, he‘s my brother.”

“Call me when he leaves.”

“You‘ll be the first to know.”

The locks tumbled on my front door, and Diesel pushed his way in, arms wrapped around bags of food.

“Food shopping isn‘t my favorite thing,” Diesel said. “I wouldn‘t do it for anyone but you.”

“How do you eat if you don‘t shop?”

“People feed me.” He pulled a couple subs out of a bag and tossed one to me. “Women think I‘m adorable.”

“Adorable?”

“Maybe adorable is a stretch.”

I unwrapped my sub and took a bite. “I have a line on Munch. He‘s looking for barium, and there are only two vendors in the area. Solomon Cuddles and Doc Weiner.”

“What would Munch want with barium?”

“I don‘t know,” I said. “I don‘t know anything about barium.”

“It‘s a heavy metal. Hard to find in pure form because it oxidizes when it‘s exposed to air. That‘s all I remember from Chemistry 101.”

Carl walked into the kitchen and did a gesture that said, What about me?

Diesel handed Carl a bag with apples, oranges, bananas, and grapes. “I got you fruit.”

Carl looked at the fruit and gave Diesel the finger.

“Dude,” Diesel said. “I‘ve spent a lot of time in southeast Asia. Monkeys eat fruit.”

Carl jumped onto the counter and pawed through the remaining food bags. He found a box of cookies and took it back to the couch.

“You‘ll rot your teeth,” I told Carl. “You‘ll get diabetes.”

“Do you know where to find Weiner and Cuddles?” Diesel asked.

“Yes.”

He finished his sub and grabbed a banana. “Let‘s roll.”

“What about Carl?”

Diesel looked in on Carl. “Are you okay here by yourself?”

Carl vigorously nodded his head and gave Diesel a thumbs-up.

WE CHOSE TO watch Doc Weiner because the mall felt unwieldy. Too many people. Too much space, plus I couldn‘t see myself looking for a guy named Cuddles who was walking around dealing heavy chemicals out of a briefcase.

Not that I was excited about staking out Stark Street. It was affectionately known as the combat zone, and it lived up to its name on a daily basis. In order to better fit in with the local atmosphere, Diesel was driving a black Cadillac Escalade with titanium wheel covers, dark tinted windows, and multiple antennae. I didn‘t ask where he got it. We were parked half a block down and across the street from the Sky Social Club, and we looked like your average contract killer/neighborhood drug dealer in our badass gas-guzzler.

“Do you know what Doc Weiner looks like?” Diesel asked.

“No. Does it matter?”

Diesel pushed his seat back and stretched his legs. “Just curious.”

“What do you think goes on inside this social club?” Diesel looked across the street. “Business transactions, card games, prostitution. The usual.”

“Have you ever been in a social club like this?”

Diesel nodded. “They‘re the same the world over. They‘re grungy hangouts for crime families and their retinue of suck-ups and stooges.”

“There are a couple social clubs in the Burg, but most of the men are recovering from hip replacements and are on oxygen.”

“The golden years,” Diesel said.

The Sky Social Club was housed in a narrow three-story building, squished between a butcher shop and a coin-op Laundromat. The front door to the club was wooden and weathered. The windows had blackout shades drawn. Overall, the appearance was grim.

Two young guys went into the club. Minutes later, one came out with a folding chair. He set the chair by the door, lit up, and sat down. An hour later, we were still watching, but nothing was happening. No one was going in, and no one was coming out.

“We don‘t need two people to do this. I should take off and watch the guy at the mall,” I said to Diesel.

“Give me a break. You just want to go shopping.”

I rolled my eyes so far into the top of my head I almost went unconscious, and I did a huge snort of indignation. This all in spite of the fact that he was right.

“You are so annoying,” I said.

“I try my best.”

“Tell me again why I need to sit here with you.”

“If I stay here alone and Wulf shows up instead of Munch, he‘ll sniff me out and vanish. And then he might not come back, and we‘ll have lost our lead. The real question is why do I have to sit here with you. I could be taking a nap in your nice, comfy bed right now.”

“Good grief.”

“Don‘t you want to know why I‘m here?” Diesel asked.

“No.”

He grinned at me and tugged at my ponytail. “I‘m here to protect you so you don‘t get hurt in this bad neighborhood.”

I didn‘t know how to react to this. I was sort of offended but at the same time grateful. And deep down inside, I knew it was bullshit. He was here hoping Wulf would show up.

“Did you buy that?” Diesel asked.

“Partially.”

I slouched lower in my seat and watched the sidewalk across the street. A man came out of the bar at the end of the block and walked toward us, head down. His hair was braided and shoulder length. He looked to be in his late twenties. Slim. Average height. He was wearing work boots and jeans and a dirt-smudged T-shirt. He got even with us and picked his head up to check out a passing car. Holy cow. It was Hector Mendez. He was in my dead file. He failed to appear for court six months ago, and I was never able to find him. And then someone said he was dead. Shot in a gang thing.

“I know that guy,” I said to Diesel. “I looked for him for months and finally gave up.”

I grabbed cuffs and pepper spray out of my bag, shoved them into my jeans pockets, and bolted from the car. Diesel asked if I needed help, but I hit the ground running. No time for small talk. I knew the instant Mendez saw me he‘d take off. He was a small-time drug pusher who was constantly in and out of jail, and this wasn‘t the first time I‘d chased him down.

I was halfway across the street, running flat out, when he spotted me. His eyes went wide, and it was easy to read his lips.

“Oh fuck,” Mendez said.

“Stop!” I yelled. “I want to talk to you.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I gotta go. I‘m in a hurry.”

I never broke stride, and I had momentum, but he was a better runner. He had long legs and a lot of motivation. We rounded the corner, and he turned down a ser vice road that intersected the block. There were cars parked behind businesses and rooming houses. I saw a sign for the rear entrance to the Laundromat, and suddenly Mendez stopped short. I didn‘t bother to question his reason. I took a flying leap and tackled him, taking him down to the ground. We rolled around cussing and clawing, my knee connected with his gonads, and that was the end of the rolling around. I cuffed him and sprang to my feet, feeling like I‘d just won the calf-roping competition at the county fair.

“I‘m gonna sue,” Mendez said. “My privates are injured. This here‘s some kind of brutality.”

I was breathing heavy, trying to get a grip, and then I saw the reason Mendez had stopped running. He‘d come face-to-face with Wulf. At least, I was pretty sure it was Wulf. He was almost as tall as Diesel but not quite as solid. His hair was black and shoulder length, swept away from his face in waves. His skin was pale and unearthly, like moonlight reflecting off still water. He was shockingly handsome, and his face was disturbingly devoid of expression. He was wearing black dress boots, black slacks, and a lightweight black cashmere sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He had an expensive watch on his left wrist. And he had a narrow black metal bracelet on his right wrist. He was standing beside a black Ferrari, and he was looking past me.