Blowing out a sigh, Scar dropped into his chair and glanced at the photo. “OK. Yeah. Maybe it’s the fat kid used to hang around some.”

“Amazing how the mind works.”

“So I forgot. I been busy.”

“Altar-boy duties.”

“That’s it.”

“Or maybe you’ve been working the bus depots. Looking for young stuff, you know what I mean?”

This time the shoulder hitch seemed less cocksure.

“Maybe we should talk to your workforce. Check a few IDs. See how many candles these girls will be blowing out on their next cakes.”

“This is harassment.”

“How old was Ruben when you turned her out?”

Scar’s mouth curled up in a smarmy half-smirk. “It wasn’t like that.”

“What was it like?”

“I tried to help her.”

“Right. You were her mentor.”

Scar wagged his head slowly. “You’re so fucking dumb, you don’t have a clue.”

“You her baby daddy?”

“Ruben didn’t have no baby.”

“Yes. She did.”

“News to me.”

“You help her kill it?”

“You’re fucking nuts.”

The more I watched, the more repulsive I found the little weasel.

“Where is she?”

“I haven’t seen the bitch in three years.”

“That so?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“She moved on.”

“With who?”

“Tom fucking Cruise. How should I know?”

“That make you angry? Ruben taking off like that?”

“It’s a free country.”

“Did Ruben mule for you, Scar? That it? She leave you with a gap in your distribution system?”

“The dumb cunt didn’t have the brains to pick her own nose.”

“Or was it the lost revenue? One less whore paying for the right to do back-alley blow jobs?”

“The kid was a whale. Not worth piss.”

“Did you cap her? Use the hit to send a message?”

“You really are. You’re fucking crazy.”

Sensing fault lines in the tough-guy bravado, Ollie offered silence.

“Look, I hope nothing’s happened to the kid. Honest. I wish I could help.”

Ollie leaned back and folded his arms. “Tell me what you know about her.”

Scar looked as though the request confused him.

“Is Ruben Francophone? Anglophone? Aboriginal?”

“She spoke English.”

“Where’s she from?”

When Scar wagged his head, I could see moisture glistening on his upper lip.

“Who’d she hang with?”

“I heard she lived with a chick named Foxy.”

“If Ruben left Edmonton, where would she go?”

Scar raised his hands and eyes to the ceiling.

“How would she travel?”

“Jesus, man. I’m telling you. I don’t know. I never get involved in the girls’ personal lives.”

That did it. My anger boiled over. “This runt-ass bastard hooks kids on drugs, makes them whore to feed their addictions, bullies them, exploits them financially, but he’s not involved in their personal lives?”

Ryan clasped the upturned palm I’d thrust toward the screen. For a moment our eyes locked. He looked away first. I disengaged and dropped my arm to my side.