"It's what you do," Chloe said, "you're a mistress."

"What do you think Montez said to him?"

"He probably called Tony Jr. an asshole. You're keeping the sweatshirt on?"

An extra-large that Chloe loaned her and hung below her cute skirt.

"If it was just the old guy I might take it off. I'm not showing my tits to the help."

"Because they're colored guys?"

"I went with a black guy once, a professor at Wayne, an intellectual type. He really was, but he said 'You understand what I'm saying?' about every other sentence. I think to let me know he was street before he got educated, knows wazzup."

Chloe said, "I've usually had a good time with colored guys. When they're cool they're really cool. Like Montez, the way he gave it back. That was cool."

"Yeah, well, I broke up with my black guy, he was so fucking boring. I said, 'Look, just assume I understand what you're saying. If I don't, I'll tell you.' And, yes, I'm wearing the sweatshirt."

"It's way too big for you."

"So?"

The old man didn't seem to mind the sweatshirt, since it was from U of M. He said he liked it when they jumped up in the air. They did the stupid cheers, "We're the girls from Mich-i-gan:" and acted nasty in cute ways.

Montez wasn't around for the show. He said he'd be in the kitchen, said he hadn't eaten and was hungry. That was all he did say after the row with the old man. "I'll be in the kitchen, Mr. Paradiso."

Kelly caught it but didn't think it registered on the old man. Montez was Montez and Mr. Paradiso was not Mr. Paradise. They had left their unfinished alexanders upstairs. Lloyd brought them each another and the old man said, "Tell Montez to get out here."

Kelly watched him come through the dining room still wearing his gray suit, his eyebrows raised to the boss, not speaking, but this way asking what the man wanted, sitting there on his throne with a vodka on the rocks.

Kelly imagining the way Montez saw him.

Mr. Paradiso said, "You don't think I treat you fairly. All right, give me a coin, a quarter."

Montez brought change out of his pants pocket, found a quarter and gave it to the man.

"What I'm gonna do, Montez, my number one, I'm gonna share my ladies with you. I don't want to show favoritism, so I'm flipping the coin. Heads, Chloe goes upstairs and you have a party on me. Tails, and I mean a nine-hundred-dollar piece of tail, Montez, you get Kelly here. How's that sound to everybody?"

6

Ten to eleven Delsa walked in the squad room taking off his duffle coat, the kind with the hood and wooden toggles, the coat, the turtleneck and blazer a deep navy blue.

Harris said, "You're back?"

"You see me," Delsa said.

Jackie Michaels was playing slot machines on her computer, the calliope ding-dong sound turned low. Jackie had the 8:00 P.M. to 4:00 A.M. She looked at Delsa taking off his blazer with the duffle and hanging them on the rack.

"Richard said you went home."

"I did, I had something to eat."

Richard Harris, forty-four, cool mustache, gold cuff links, a white girlfriend named Dawn who hustled drinks at the Greektown Casino; Harris a year with Squad Seven after a few years of patrol and a few more on the Violent Crimes Task Force, was looking at the Love Swing instructions book. He said to Delsa, "Can't stay away, huh?"

Jackie knew better. Frank's problem was staying home. Walk in the house and get the TV on fast. Until a couple of months ago Maureen's clothes were still in her closet and chifforobe. He mentioned it at the Christmas party, Frank half in the bag but still quiet telling her. Jackie's advice, get rid of the clothes, everything; she'd help him if he wanted. St. Vincent de Paul shoppers were wearing Maureen's clothes now, and Delsa was practically living in the squad room: the man sounding the same as always but buried in police work from morning into the night, glad to have the paperwork.

At his desk now he said, "You want to know what happened to Tyrell's gun?"

"It's in the river," Harris said, "or it's in pieces all over the city of Detroit."

"My man Jerome," Delsa said, " drove the guy who got rid of it for Tyrell. Reggie Banks, they call T-Bone, half-brother of Jerome's girlfriend, Nashelle. Sunday, the night after Yakity's, Reggie wants to cruise Belle Isle. Jerome says, 'Man, it's freezing cold,' but lets Reggie talk him into it, Jerome suspecting what the trip's for. So they go over and cruise Belle Isle, Jerome with his sounds turned up, all that heavy bass chugging out of the car-"

"Bouncing his shit," Harris said.

"On the way back they stop on the bridge and Reggie chucks the piece over the side. Jerome says he knows the exact spot where Reggie was standing."

Jackie said, "How you get him to tell you all that?"

"We let him deal some weed, keep him out of court," Delsa said, "and he tells us things." Delsa turned from Jackie, at her desk, to Harris across the aisle. "I asked him if he knew Orlando, both of them dealing weed. He says he's heard the name."

"He'll see the man's burnt-up house," Harris said, "he watches any tv."

"What about Orlando's girlfriend?"

"I did what you said, got next to the neighbor lady, Rosella Munson. She told me Tenisha and her mother were close, she'd probably run to her mama's house, and that's where I found her. The mother doesn't care for Orlando. She told Tenisha, answer my questions or she'd take a stick to her."

Jackie asked how old Tenisha was.

"Twenty," Harris said. "She and her mother are at Northland all day yesterday, shopping. The mother says she took her home around five. Tenisha goes in the house, Orlando's mopping the floor in the dining room with Pine Sol and bleach, using so much, Tenisha said, it burned her eyes."

"She didn't ask," Jackie said, "what he was cleaning up, did she?"

"Said she couldn't remember if she did or not."

Jackie said, "You know this Orlando's never touched a mop before in his life."

"She goes next door," Harris said, "to get away from the fumes, the smell, and sits down with Rosella to watch a movie on TV. After while she hears a car, looks out the window and sees two friends of Orlando's standing by a black SUV. Orlando comes out with some trash bags-they're full of something but she doesn't know what-and puts them in the back end. Now Orlando drives off in the SUV, by himself. The two guys-one of 'em she remembers as Jo-Jo-tell her to go on back next door. Stay there till they come get her. Tenisha says this is her house, she can do what she wants. She goes upstairs and comes back down with her coloring book and crayons. Frank, they were hers."

Delsa said, "You never know."

"There's a part here," Harris said, "we didn't learn about till a few hours ago. Orlando and Jo-Jo, that afternoon, went to Sterling Auto Sales and took the SUV out for a test drive-be right back. Okay, later on Orlando drives off with the trash bags. He's on Michigan Avenue westbound, a radio car from the Fourth flashes him to pull over. Orlando takes off, runs a red light, turns a corner, sideswipes a couple of cars and jumps out, abandons ship. They look for him but it's dark now and he gets away. They look in the SUV, Ford Explorer, find like a hundred pounds of grass in three of the bags, bloody clothes in another, and a Chinese AK-47. Sterling Auto Sales had reported the SUV stolen."

"If he used the AK on the Mexicans," Delsa said. "Now he has to dump it."

"That's how it looks," Harris said. "And stash the weed at his mother's, like they do. Hundred pounds, Jackie. How long would that last you?"

"That was white-boy Glenn's habit, not mine. I'm done with him. My evenings off, I'm out at Sportree's sipping Bombay, looking to bring a tall black dude into my life. Little Glenn was fun, but he made me nervous."