“I’m pretty busy right now.”

“At least you ain’t covered in doodah.”

“Nice turn of phrase.”

Below the bill’s shadow, I saw Binny chew his lip.

“Do you have something to tell me?”

“I never got no pancakes.” Eyes skittish.

I reached into my purse and waggled the muffin I’d pilfered from the breakfast buffet. I know. But meals had been patchy. I wanted backup.

Binny crossed to me and took my offering. His fingers looked small and brown, digging the cake from its little paper cup. There was a crescent of dirt under each of his nails. When finished with the muffin, he wadded the wrapper and cocked his arm.

“Whoa, there, twiglet. Thought it was cool to respect the environment.”

He looked confused. Then, “You talking about the crazy old geezer and his caribou?”

I raised both brows.

“Pffff.”

“So I should lay off the caribou, but it’s cool if I dump my trash in your bed?”

I held out a palm. Binny rolled his whole head but dropped the wrapper in it.

Two women passed us on their way into the building. One was young, pushing a stroller. The other had curly white hair and clutched her purse as if bandits hid behind every bush.

“You need to watch your back, old lady.” Binny spoke quietly, face angled away from mine.

“What do you mean?”

“You got a knack for making people mad.”

“What people?”

He shrugged a bony shoulder. “I’m just sayin’.”

“Saying what? You have to make yourself clear.”

“I don’t have to make myself nothing no old hag says.”

“Are you talking about Tom Unka and his goons?”

“I ain’t saying who.”

“You know things, don’t you, Binny?”

“The street is my school. I stay low. I keep cool.” He made a downward sweeping gesture with one hand. Laughed.

’Ow do you do? My name’s Gavroche.

“You know anything about the Castain and Scarborough hits?”

“Assholes also made people mad.”

“Why?”

“A patch gotta have one boss.”

“And that’s Unka now.”

Binny looked at me from under his ridiculously large bill.

“Did Unka also kill Annaliese Ruben?”

The bill tilted downward. “Word is, that was outside.”

“Who, outside?”

Binny lifted one sneaker to the pedal of his bike.

“Annaliese was my friend, Binny.”

“Gotta bounce.”

And he was gone.

*  *  *

King was at her desk, talking on a phone that looked like it dated to the Vietnam era. She did the finger-in-the-air thing, then pointed to a chair.

I sat.

“Right. Thanks.” She cradled the receiver.

To me. “That was the ME in Edmonton. Castain and Scarborough were taken out with nine-millimeters.”

“Handguns firing jacketed bullets.”

She nodded. “Whether one or two weapons, neither was the one that killed Beck and his amigo.”

“The second vic was a guy named Eric Skipper.”

“What’s his story?”