Obsession

“Ever have problems with him?”

Head shake. “Always cool.”

“What’s his last name?”

“Dunno.”

“What about Blazer?”

“Little guy, last name’s something with Pain.”

“Blazer Pain?”

“Something like that,” said Bowland.

“Black or white?”

“White. Thinks he’s a ceeleb.”

“Wants the VIP room?”

“There weren’t none at the Snake. Motherfucker just acts stupid.”

“Stupid, how?”

“Walks around like he’s all that.”

“Blazer Pain,” said Petra.

“Something like that.”

“Robert Fisk hung with these two regularly.”

“I guess.”

“You don’t know?”

“It was always crowded.”

“You were at the door, you saw who came in.”

Bowland shook his head. “Sometimes I was by the stage.”

“The night Fisk attacked you, where were you stationed?”

“The stage.”

“So you don’t know if Fisk came in with Rosie and Blazer.”

“I seen ’ em inside. Rosie was with Blazer then Blazer walks away and Rosie stays by the stage. Fisk’s like watching out for Blazer, then he comes back and says he’s gonna dance.”

“Watching out for Blazer how?”

“Standing close to the motherfucker, looking like, you know.” He narrowed his eyes, bobbed his head.

“Fisk was Blazer’s bodyguard?”

Shrug.

“Blazer needs a bodyguard?”

“Maybe he thinks so.”

“Do you know of any reason for him to need a bodyguard?”

“Ask him.”

“What I meant,” said Petra, “was does he engage in illegal activities.”

“Ask him.”

“Where can we find him?”

Bowland laughed. “Maybe in toon-town.” Yawning. “Gotta sleep.”

“Why are you so tired?” she said. “Never heard of a pawnshop with a night shift.”

“Gotta be there eight in the morning.”

“Till when?”

“One,” said Bowland.

“Part-time gig,” said Petra.

“Feels like full-time. Standing around looking at the crazy shit those Persians buy.”

She stood. “Bass, was not wanting to look like a wimp the only reason you didn’t testify?”

“Yeah.”

“No other reason?”

“Like what?”

“No one paid you to stay away?”

“Someone paid me, you think I’d be standing around looking at the crazy shit those Persians buy?”

Flipping on his back, he rested his hands on a mountain of belly and stared at the ceiling.

By the time we made it to the door, he was pretending to snore.

Loud, theatrical. More volume than he was able to produce by speaking.

Outside, standing next to her Accord, Petra said, “Rosie and Blazer Pain. Maybe the gang squad will have them on the moniker list.”

I said, “Rosie’s a deejay, Robert Fisk thinks he’s a dancer, and Blazer has visions of celebrity. ‘Pain’ could be a stage name.”

“Or an S and M angle.”

“The club scene,” said Milo. “You know what goes with that. Maybe Jordan will end up as just another dope hit.”

Petra said, “Gyms, now clubs. Great. One place I don’t have to go is Rattlesnake. I checked and it closed down three months after Fisk assaulted Bowland. Most of those dives are fly-by-night. This is not going to be simple.”

I said, “There are a couple of places right on Cherokee, just off the boulevard. Walking distance to Jordan’s place.”

“Meaning it would’ve been easy for Jordan to walk over and sell or buy or whatever,” she said. “Problem is I know those places, El Bandito and Baila Baila. They’re reggaeton, a Latino crowd, white and black guys wouldn’t make it past the door.”

She checked her watch. “Got some time before the night crawlers are out, maybe Eric and I can have some dinner. What’s on your schedule, guys?”

“Nothing too complicated,” said Milo. “Gotta pick up a gun.”

“The maybe match to Lowball Armbruster,” she said. “I’m still trying to locate the slugs dug out of him. Coroner claims they have them, but all those years pass, you know how it goes.”

“No casings on record?”

“Nope, either someone picked up after themselves or it was a revolver.”

I said, “Patty’s gun was a semi-auto.”

“Would Patty be someone who’d pick up?”

I nodded.

“Well,” she said, “it’s probably nothing, tons of.22s floating around. Meanwhile, I search for Robert Fisk.”

She crossed her fingers.

Milo said, “We could all use some luck.”

CHAPTER 19

At six fifteen we pulled up in front of Tanya’s duplex. Over an hour of daylight left but the outdoor spots were on and the drapes were drawn.

The peephole on her door was covered by a tiny door. Before I knocked, it cracked an inch. A pale green eye inspected me.

“One second.” A bolt turned, then another.

She wore a pink buttondown shirt and a khaki skirt and held a plate of cookies. Big Daliesque chocolate-chip inventions, the chocolate soft and runny.

“I just got these out of the oven.”

Milo took one, finished it in two bites. “I like your style.”

“How about some coffee?”

While she was gone, he helped himself to another cookie. “Playing grown-up makes her feel in charge. Only