enough, but a loner.'
I looked around the office. No clues as to the nature of Tri-Bro's business. 'So what sort of business is this? And what did Singh do for you?'
'TriBro makes very specific parts for slot machines. My father and his two brothers started the business in fifty-two, and now it's owned by me and my two brothers, Bart and Clyde. My mother had hopes for a large family and thought it would simplify things to name her children alphabetically. I have two sisters. Diane and Evelyn.'
'Your parents stopped at five?'
'They divorced after five. I think it was the stress of living in a house with one bathroom and five kids.'
I felt myself smiling. I liked Andrew Cone. He was a pleasant guy and he had a sense of humor. 'And Singh?'
'Singh was a techie, working in quality control. We hired him to temporarily fill in for a woman who was out on maternity leave.'
'Do you think his disappearance could be work related?'
'Are you asking if the Mob rubbed him out?'
'That would be part of the question.'
'We're actually a pretty boring little cog in the casino wheel,' Cone said. 'I don't think the Mob would be interested in Singh's contribution to gambling.'
'Terrorist connection?'
Cone grinned and tipped back in his chair. 'Not likely. From what I hear, Singh was addicted to American television and junk food and would give his life to protect the country that spawned the Egg McMuffin.'
'Did you know him personally?'
'Only as boss to employee. This is a small company. Bart and Clyde and I know everyone who works here, but we don't necessarily socialize with the people on the line.'
Raised voices carried in to us.
'My brothers,' Andrew said. 'No volume control.'
A slightly younger, balder version of Andrew stuck his head in the doorway. 'We got a problem.' He looked my way. 'And you would be who?'
I gave him my card.
'Bond enforcement?'
A third face appeared in the doorway. This face was round and cherubic with eyes peering out from behind wire-rimmed glasses. The face came with a chubby body dressed in homeboy jeans, a Buzz Lightyear sweatshirt that had been washed almost to oblivion and beyond, and ratty sneakers.
'You're a bounty hunter, right?' the baby-faced guy said. 'Do you have a gun?'
'No gun.'
'They always have guns on television.'
'I left my gun home.'
'I bet you don't need one. I bet you're real sneaky. You just sneak up to someone and bam, you've got him in handcuffs, right?'
'Right.'
'Are you going to handcuff someone here?'
'Not today.'
'My brothers,' Andrew said, gesturing to the two men. 'Bart and Clyde Cone.'
Bart was wearing a black dress shirt, black slacks, and black loafers. Black Bart.
'If you're here about Samuel Singh, we have nothing to say on the matter,' Bart said. 'He was very briefly in our employ.'
'Did you know him personally?'
'I did not. And I'm afraid I have to speak to my brother privately. We have a problem on the line.'
Clyde leaned close to me. Friendly. 'There's always a problem on the line,' he said, smiling, not caring much. 'Shits always breaking. Gizmos and stuff like that.' His eyes got wide. 'How about a taser? Have you ever used a taser?'
Bart pressed his lips together and threw Clyde a dark look.
The look rolled off Clyde. 'I never met a bounty hunter before,' Clyde said, his breath steaming his glasses.
I'd hoped for more information from TriBro. The name of a friend or enemy would have been helpful. Some knowledge of travel plans would have been nice. What I got was a vague idea of the nature of Singh's job and a dinner invitation from Clyde Cone, who I suspected was only interested in my stun gun.
I declined the dinner invitation and I rolled out of the lot. Ranger was working the Apusenjas' neighborhood. I didn't want to step on Ranger's toes, but I worried that Boo the cockapoo wasn't a priority for him. It was getting to be late afternoon. I could cut across town and do a quick drive around, looking for Boo, and then I'd be in a good position to mooch dinner from my mom.
