A black dumpster stood in the parking lot. It had a gray, hard plastic top that flipped on a swivel. My partner grabbed the top and pushed it up, spinning it on its hinge. As she did, Lady and I caught up with her.

The thing was about half full. About a hundred small clear bags full of crap that people toss in hotel trash cans.

I was pretty sure chain of custody had blown the need for gloves, but I put them on when Remy handed them to me. On the far right, I could see a black Mr. Coffee machine.

“Right there.” I pointed.

Remy wedged her shoe into a slot on the side of the dumpster and took a step up, grabbing the machine.

She handed it over, and I walked a few spaces down from the dumpster to my Silverado. I opened the back door and grabbed a shop towel from my truck.

I placed the coffee maker on the hood of my truck with the towel under it.

Flipping the machine over, I stared at the screws that held it together. All four were nearly stripped.

“You got a screwdriver in that office?” I asked Lady.

She glanced at me, perhaps considering a smartass comment. Turned to the office instead. “Coming right up.”

While we waited for her, I turned to Remy.

“You know what I can’t understand?” I said to my partner. “Why the hell was Carilla still hanging in this area?”

“After his two friends are shot, you mean?” Remy asked.

I nodded. “His boys get killed Thursday. He got shot in the hand. Yet he circles back to the bar. Shows up at Tandy’s Thursday night. Friday too, when we see him. Why?”

“Abe asked me the same thing. The only idea we had is that he’s waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“I dunno,” she said. “He sent another text to that same throwaway cell.”

I blinked. “What?”

I was still playing catch-up from being gone three days.

Remy checked her tablet and pointed to something in her notes.

Thursday morning’s gonna come fast, and you’re still gonna need what I got. Let’s talk.

“Jesus, what the hell?” I said to Remy, my eyes narrowing. “You never told me that.”

“Sorry.”

“And that was sent when?” I asked.

“Five p.m. Friday,” she said. “Same day we saw him at Tandy’s. Presumably he was referring to the following Thursday.”

I was frustrated that I was getting this piecemeal, and I needed an hour free to go through all of Remy’s notes from the three days I took off.

Lady came back with the screwdriver then, and I thanked her.

After she left, I pressed the Phillips-head hard into the screws, knowing they were stripped, and I might only get one shot at removing them. Slowly, each turned and fell, popping with a metal clink onto the shop towel sitting on my truck hood.

I removed the bottom panel of the coffee maker then, and Remy and I glanced inside.