Drama City

those below them and sat crookedly. A couple of empty Heineken bottles were set atop the bricks.

Lorenzo whistled softly. The rot came to him at once, and Lorenzo rubbed its scalp. The dog's ears were scarred and carried open pink sores. Its eyelids curled inward.

'Champ supposed to be a watchdog,' said Duke good-naturedly. 'But he don't watch nothin' but what's on this grill.'

'You got a fly problem with this dog's ears,' said Lorenzo.

'That so.'

'You clean up the feces in the yard, that'll discourage some of it. But you got to treat this animal's ears now. It needs treatment for its eye condition too.'

'Oh, so now I'm gonna clean up the feces in my own yard.' Duke looked Lorenzo over with amusement. 'You wanna clean shit, you clean the shit out your own yard, hoss. 'Stead of comin' into my yard and telling me to clean mines.'

'Dog needs treatment,' said Lorenzo.

'What're you, some kind of dog police, sumshit like that?' Duke laughed expansively to let them know they were all friends.

Lorenzo stared at Duke.

Duke looked away and drank off some of his Heineken. He put the fork down on the grill and patted his fat thigh. 'C'mere, boy.'

The rot moved back toward his master but did not get too close. Duke reached down to pet him, and the dog backed up a step, then bent his head down timidly and allowed Duke's touch.

'Anyway,' said Duke. 'What can I do for you boys?'

'We're interested in one of your cars,' said Nigel. 'Silver BMW, the Three-thirty model.'

'It's out.'

'I can see that.'

'How about that pretty Impala over there? Imagine drivin' that pretty-ass motherfucker down the street. Females be gettin' wet behind it.'

'We lookin' to talk to whoever rentin' the BMW.'

'Why?'

'That ain't your concern.'

'It is if it's about my car. And don't try to act like you police.'

'Be better for you if we were,' said Nigel.

'Now you gonna tweak on me, big man?'

'I haven't yet.'

'Comin' in here, on my property, makin' demands.'

'I'm gonna ask you nice, but only one more time. We gonna need the name and address of the man who's rentin' the Three-thirty. You give us that, we gonna be on our way.'

'I can't help you,' said Duke, the boldness withering in his voice.

'The BMW,' said Nigel.

'Look, I got rules. I might be part of this underground economy out here, but still, I got the same rules any other business got. I can't be givin' up the confidentiality of my clients.'

'Fuck all this,' said Lorenzo. He reached over and picked the fork up off the grill by its wooden handle.

'Hey,' said Duke.

Lorenzo walked around Duke and backed him up so that his wide bottom hit the barbecue pit. Some bricks came loose off the top. Both bottles fell to the concrete and one of them shattered. Lorenzo pushed the fork toward Duke's face, and Duke closed his eyes and turned his head. Lorenzo touched the tines of the fork to Duke's neck, denting it, and Duke screamed. His voice was no longer rich and deep. Lorenzo stepped back. Smoke came off Duke's neck.

'You burned me,' said Duke, as if Lorenzo had only hurt his feelings. He rubbed at the marks, like those of a snakebite, that were already showing there. Champ stood where he was and watched.

'The name and address,' said Nigel.

'I got to get it from out my office,' said Duke, just above a mumble.

'Don't come out the office with nothin' but that information,' said Nigel. 'Hear?'

Duke nodded without looking at either of them. He walked to the garage, used a key to open it, and went inside.

Lorenzo stabbed the fork into the T-bone on the grill, lifted it, shook it loose, and let it fall to the ground in front of the rot. The dog's nub of tail wiggled furiously as he took the steak in his teeth and trotted off to a corner of the yard.

Nigel chuckled. 'You ain't lost nothin'.'

'Some shit just stay natural,' said Lorenzo.