Marge touched her head. “Bad?”

Barnes gave a slight shake of his head. As a black-and-white pulled up, Amanda tightened her grip on the granny. Carefully, she escorted the irate woman to the confines of the backseat. The uniforms wrote down basic facts and drove off.

Barnes said, “That was something!”

Marge got a Band-Aid and Neosporin from the first-aid kit in the unmarked’s trunk and Amanda tended to the wound.

“I actually took the time to do my makeup this morning. What a waste!”

“You look fine,” Barnes said.

Marge smiled. “How’s your foot, Amanda?”

“She’s no lightweight but I’ll survive.”

Marshall Bledsoe said, “You calling my mom fat?”

When no one answered, he said, “I need to be with her. To calm her down. Her heart’s not so good.”

Marge said, “Why’s she so riled up anyway?”

“One, she’s sick of you guys badgering me. Two, that’s just her. She riles easily especially when she’s had a few beers.”

“How many is a few?”

Bledsoe thought a moment. “I think she drained a six-pack, but that’s just getting started. In her prime, Ma could keg with the best of them.”

A second cop car picked up Bledsoe and delivered him to the station. The detectives got there first and worked out the interview.

Smoking and sipping coffee, Bledsoe slumped, loose-limbed, in a hard chair that he seemed to find comfortable. So relaxed he could have been zoned out in his living room watching the game. Marge was willing to let Laverne go, but the old lady refused to leave without her son, so she was in a room next door.

None of the detectives had any idea what they’d get out of Bledsoe, but they had him in custody for a few hours until his traffic arraignment. The court had to add up all the fines and penalties. With skipping out on a warrant and some luck, there’d be jail time.

Since it was LAPD territory, Barnes and Isis deferred to Lieutenant Decker. The big man announced he and Barnes would go in first and the women would do round two if there was anything worth pursuing. Decker opened the door, lumbered in and sat opposite Bledsoe. Barnes sat on Bledsoe’s right.

“How are you doing, Marshall?”

“How’s my mom?”

“Waiting for you.”

“She needs to eat. She has yo-yo blood sugar.”

“She had lunch on the taxpayers’ money.”

“Any way we can rip off this illegitimate government is great.” Bledsoe shook his head. “Would you like to tell me what’s really going on?”

“You’re a lousy driver,” said Decker. “You owe the city, the county, and the state a lot of money.”

“You know that’s horseshit,” said Bledsoe, still without passion. “For the police to make a house call, you must think I know something important.”

Decker leaned back in his chair. “And what important thing would you know?”

Bledsoe stubbed out his cigarette. “I don’t have to talk to you clowns. All I have to do is lawyer up and that ends that.”

“No curiosity?” said Decker.

“What am I supposed to know?”

“Exactly.”

“Huh?”

“It’s complicated,” said Decker. Now Bledsoe was confused and trying hard not to show it. Decker shot Barnes a nod.

Barnes leaned in close to Bledsoe. “You’re known as a leader, Marshall. You give the orders, you don’t take them.”

Bledsoe shrugged.

Decker’s turn to lean forward. “We had a synagogue desecrated a few years ago. The guy who took the fall was some mope named Ernesto Golding. Definitely an order-taker.”

“Who were his people?”

“White Tower Radicals,” Decker lied. “An organization near and dear to you.”

Bledsoe smiled and fluffed his beard. “If you’re asking me if I’m a member, I plead proud and guilty. But whatever you’re talking about, that Jew place or any other place, it wasn’t me.”

“I didn’t say it was you,” Decker said. “Did I say it was you?”

Bledsoe was quiet.

“ Marshall, I believe you. You know why? Something that important- trashing a Jew place- Ernesto had to be taking orders from a guy higher up than you.”

Marshall blinked. “And who would that be?”

“Ricky Moke- ”

“Ricky?” Bledsoe laughed. “Right.”

“He’s the man, Marshall.”

Bledsoe laughed again. “Don’t you turkeys know anything? Moke’s dead. He was eaten by a bear.”

“A mountain lion.”

“Either way he’s still animal shit. Before that, he was a peon.”

“That’s not what I hear.”

“Then you hear shit.”

“Either way,” said Decker, “Ricky’s gone. You’re saying that makes you the big guy?”

Bledsoe started to smile, cut it short, stayed silent.

Decker said, “How did it feel having someone like Moke muscle in on your authority?”

“Right.” Bledsoe huffed. “Ricky was a peon.”

“So correct me, Marshall. Tell me what you know about the ransacking of the synagogue- straighten me out.”

“I don’t know shit about it, never followed any of that. And since Moke is dead and Golding was popped, I guess you’ll never know what really happened.”

“If you didn’t know anything about the case, how do you know Golding’s dead, let alone popped?”

Bledsoe smacked his lips together and said nothing.

“We can dance like this for a while but bottom line, you’re in trouble, Marshall. At this point, you could use someone on your side.”

Bledsoe let out a lone chuckle. “Let me set you straight, man. I didn’t ransack any kikehouse down here, and that’s the truth. Theoretically, if I had been involved, it wouldn’t have been a ransacking. Something would have exploded and you can bet your ass, there would have been kikes inside- the younger the bet- ” His chair flew out from under his butt and unceremoniously, he toppled to the floor. “What the fuck!”

“Sorry, I tripped and knocked your chair.” Decker exchanged glances with Barnes. Barnes didn’t emote.

Then the lieutenant turned to Bledsoe, gave him a tight smile and righted the seat. “Here, sit back down, Marshall. What were you saying?”

Bledsoe got up from the floor, wiped off his pants, stayed in the corner.

Decker was still smiling. “Have a seat.”

“I’d rather stand.”

“Have a seat.” Decker’s tone took on menace. Reluctantly, Bledsoe sat down. Decker continued, “Well, you might not have witnesses against you for the synagogue but Detective Barnes here has very good news for us. His witnesses against you are still alive.”

“Witnesses against…” Bledsoe’s brow creased. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Two boys in the White Tower Radicals, Bledsoe,” Barnes said. “They nailed you on Davida Grayson.”

“Who?” Bledsoe asked.

“C’mon, we know you ordered the hit,” Barnes lied. “And those two boys are in custody and tripping over their feet to testify against you- ”

“Who the fuck is Davida Gray?”

“She’s a state representative from Berkeley,” Barnes said. “She was found the night before last in her office with her head blown off.”

Bledsoe’s expression made Barnes’s mood sink. Genuine puzzlement. It took the scruffy bastard a few moments to find his voice. “Uh…didn’t that happen up in Northern California?”

“Yes, it did,” Barnes said. “I’m from Berkeley PD.”

“You don’t have jurisdiction down here,” Bledsoe said.

“But I do,” Decker said. “Ransacking a synagogue is one thing, Marshall. Gunning down an elected official is taking your shit to a whole different level.”

Barnes said, “We can’t help you unless you start helping yourself. And you can start helping yourself by telling us what happened.”

Bledsoe leaned back in his chair. “I honestly don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” He crossed his arms. “You guys are throwing me shit and trying to make me think it’s perfume.”

“Why would we do that?” Barnes said.

“Because that’s what you clowns do. Let me tell you something. You and your Jew masters are all on borrowed time.”