“I’m guessing Mr. Indigo’s not going to be very pleased about this,” Trimble said.

“Not pleased,” Bullock repeated. “Not pleased, you say? That’s very astute of you. Not pleased. Mr. Indigo will be disappointed, perhaps even miffed. But you know what he’ll be mostly?”

Trimble’s eyebrows went up a notch.

“He’ll be fucking apoplectic, that’s what he’ll be! And he’ll have someone else running this organization before daylight, that’s what he’ll do.”

Bullock shook his head with rage, and then his eyes landed on the Barbie box that had dropped to the floor. “Steve,” he said to Detective Trimble, his voice dripping with politeness, “would you please put that Barbie back up where it belongs?”

“Excuse me?” Trimble said.

“My Barbie box. Would you please put it back up on the shelf? I guess it fell when I lost my temper a moment ago.”

“You want me to put your Barbie back on the shelf.”

“That’s correct. I want to see if you’re good for anything this evening.”

I held on to Angie. This had a very bad feel to it.

“I think you’re closer,” Trimble told him. “Why don’t you do it.”

Blondie was looking very ill at ease, and wanted to try to defuse the situation. “I’ll get it,” he said.

“No!” Bullock shouted, and Blondie jumped back. “Did I ask you?”

“I was just trying to help.”

Pockmark strolled back into the room, quipped, “All quiet,” and, spotting the Malibu Barbie on the floor, quickly scooped it up and put it back on the shelf before Bullock could scream at him not to.

“Fuck,” said Bullock, and Pockmark looked at him, baffled, wondering why his action hadn’t rated a thank-you.

“What do you want from me?” Trimble said. “I help you out, I tip you off to things, I run your fucking errands. And you’ve done right by me, I’ll grant you that. And I’ve even stood by and done nothing when I find out you put my old partner in the hospital.”

“Who told you that?” Bullock demanded. “I’ve been over this with you.”

Trimble didn’t think that was worthy of a response. He continued, “Who was it talked Eddie into helping you out? It wasn’t me. I didn’t pick him, and I wouldn’t have, either. That was your decision. I’ve known him long enough to know he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. So he double-crossed you. That’s too bad, but I don’t see how that’s my fault.”

I felt the weight of the gun in my jacket pocket. I didn’t know where this was going, this set of hostilities between Trimble and Bullock. And I didn’t know whether it was going to afford me any sort of advantage.