Alice Anne didn’t get the joke.

“I don’ like sompin’ for nothin’. Makes me nervous.”

“I could take it back.”

She shook her head and deposited the bill between her pendulous breasts. “Wanna know anythin’?”

“Want to tell me anything?”

This time, she shrugged.

I thought a moment. “Gangs, Alice Anne. Mixed-race gangs. What do you know about gangs who jump their marks in MacFerren Park, specifically in the bathrooms?”

“Lotsa gangs, Officer Cindy.”

“I know that, honey.” It seemed they changed every week. You cleaned up one gang and then another moved in to take its place. When you cleaned up that group, the original gang moved back to its original turf. “I was just wondering if something came into your head. Mixed races, Alice Anne: white, Hispanics, maybe Asian. One white guy has lots of pimples; another is bald or has a shaved head-”

“Lotsa shaved heads.” She wrinkled her nose. “You mean gangs with whites and Mexicans together?”

“Yes.” Alice Anne didn’t subscribe to political correctness. “I’m looking for two Mexicans who hang around a white bald guy and a white guy with pimples. The bald guy might be the leader. Any ideas?”

“Lotsa ideas.”

“Share with me, Alice Anne.”

“There’re lotsa gangs working MacFerren, sure.”

“Do you have any names?”

“They bother me, too, Officer Cindy. Once they took my shopping cart.”

“Did you report it?”

Alice Anne smiled. “Aaahhh, now you’re jokin’.”

I smiled to show her I was. “So now we both got problems with these people. Names?”

“I seen a gang… Mexican and white… some Orientals, too.”

“Blacks?”

“No blacks. They don’t live here no more. But there’s more than four of ’em… mebbe like twelve of them shootin’ off guns at night. I stay away.”

“Well, these guys that I want, they could be part of that gang. Tell me about it.”

“Part of the BBs.”

Blood Bullets.I didn’t think they operated this far west-a recent development.

Alice Anne said, “I knowed one boy. They call him Hermano.”

“‘Hermano’means brother in Spanish, Alice Anne. That could be like, you know, ‘Bro.’ ”

She stared blankly.

“‘Hermano’is not necessarily a name.”

“Maybe it was Hermando.”

Herman in English. In Spanish, it was Germando, theGpronounced as a soft gutturalH. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. “Thanks.”

“He has this”-she scrunched up her face as she talked-“has thisbigtattoo of a tiger on his neck. Open mouth… teeth showing. You can’t miss it.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “That’s good, Alice Anne. Anything else?”

Her head bobbed up and down. “I seen him around.”

“Where? At MacFerren Park?”

“At the park, yeah, but also at the coffee shop. Late at night. Sometimes twelve, sometimes one. Sometimes even later. I seen him ’cause I check the garbage there. Twenty-four hours, so lots of fresh garbage.”

“That makes sense. Which coffee shop?”

“Boss’s.”

“The place about five blocks down on the corner?”

“That’s the one. I seen Germando there. Lots of times. He likes the banana pancakes.”

26

Someone was hitting meover the head, just pulverizing my brains to dust. In horror, I could see the tissue flying around, splattering on the ground, but still the pounding wouldn’t stop. It took several minutes before I could translate the repulsive nightmare into sound… Someone was knocking on my door. When I opened my eyes, I felt my heart racing, smelled the sharp odor of sweat that was evaporating off my skin. Shaking from cold, I wiped the wetness off with my damp sheets. I knew I had a breakfast appointment with Hayley Marx, and I wondered if I had overslept and it was she. But checking my alarm, I still had a half hour to go. Ordinarily, I would have been angry at being awoken prematurely, but it was a relief to bury the evil specter.

Street dreams, they’re called, all too typical for new cops. First-year med students dreamed of a bleed-out from Ebola; first-year lawyers dreamed of arriving in court dressed only in underwear. So far as I knew, only cops dreamed of getting their heads blown off. I got up, my stomach in a knot, and threw on my terry-cloth robe.

Then, on the off chance that itmightbe Koby, I took off the terry robe and put on a silk one. I took a few quick moments to preen in front of the mirror; then I quickly brushed my teeth and rinsed out the bad taste with some no-name brand of electric green mouthwash. I was still mad at him, sure, but I wanted to look decent and smell good.

I checked through my peephole.

It was Oliver.

I was disappointed on so many levels, I couldn’t even begin to analyze my feelings.

I opened the door and tried to keep my face neutral. He was wearing a blue suit, white shirt, and gold tie. He had shaved and smelled nice-a fresh scent without the cloying sweetness common in most men’s cologne. His silver-streaked black hair was slicked back, but a chip was falling across his forehead. “I’m meeting Hayley Marx for breakfast, Scott.”

“It’ll only take a minute.”

I hesitated, then let him in. He walked past me, so I closed the door. He glanced around my living room as if it were foreign territory to him. It wasn’t, of course, but it was a lot barer than when he had last seen it. I had taken away all my personal effects, intending to pack up and bid the place good-bye, but I had never got around to the actual jump. The atmosphere was about as warm as Motel 6.

“You’re moving?”

“No.”

“A fan of the minimal look?”

“What do you want, Scott?”

“How are you doing, Cin?”

“I’m doing lousy. Why is none of your business.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Accepted. I have to go-”

“Can you give me a minute?”

“Why should I?”

“Maybe because you owe me?”

“Excuseme?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets. “You know, you should have called me, Cin.”

I stared at him.“What?”

“Isaid”-his eyes bore into mine, but his voice got softer-“you should havecalledme.” A pause. “You know, last year after it all happened. I must have left fifty messages. I left those messages because I cared about you. Surely you could have found the time to return just one of them.”

We maintained eye contact.

He said, “You don’t want a relationship with me, fine. I’m a big boy. No prob. But you could have just been nice about it. You know how that works-asked how I’m doing, how my cases are going, was Daddy giving me a hard time. You know… chitty-chatty. You never had trouble talking to me when you wanted to talk.”

He dared me to respond. I didn’t accept the challenge.

“I was there when you needed me,” he said softly. “I wasgoodto you. You owed me civility.”

“I wasn’t uncivil to you, Scott.”

“You weren’t uncivil, no. You weren’tanythingto me. As far as you were concerned, I was a fucking nonentity.”

A good defense was a well-placed offense. “Nothing I did compared to how vile you were to me Sunday night. I was in shock… insevereshock… and your wretched selfishness just about put me over.”

He broke eye contact and turned away. “You serious with this guy?”

“Not in the least,” I said.

“Then what’s the problem? So I’m a racist. I’m not a nice person. But I was nice to you. I never kissed and told, and believe me, I had lots of opportunity for that.”

I gave out a sarcastic laugh. “I don’t think it would have been good for your career.”

“Your father can’t do a thing to me so long as I do my job well. And I do my job very well. I could have made you look bad, Cindy. I could have made you look bad and your father look even worse. You know gossiping is a cop’s pastime. It would have enhanced my image to brag about nailing the boss’s daughter… made you both look like clowns. But I didn’t because Icaredabout you. So all I’m saying is… is… I’m saying you could have called.”