“Bigger than Tony. Not as big as you, sir.”

“Heavyset?”

“Hard to tell with those clothes. I’m talking tweed and it was warm. Like… like… one a those movie gramma things, Gramma’s a cold Waspy bitch? Stockings with seams up the middle.”

“How old?”

“He was trying for biddy, all that makeup, the gray wig. Coulda been thirty, coulda been fifty. Lots of them do that, make like Come to Gramma. Like comfort food, you know? If having a gramma who don’t shave her legs and got a face like a toilet lid gives you comfort — where are we, never been this far.”

We’d traveled two miles east of her stroll.

As we approached Rodney, Milo said, “Pard, why don’t you turn?”

I drove by Tony Mancusi’s building. Milo watched Tasha’s face. Tasha appeared to be sleeping.

Hooking a left on Sunset, I said, “It’s kind of interesting, Tasha. Tony complains about his mother to a guy trying to look like a mother.”

“Hey,” said Tasha. “I didn’t think a that.”

Milo said, “What’s this guy’s name?”

“If I knew I’d tell you, sir, I truly would.”

“Big, thirty to fifty. Give me more details.”

“Ugly, sir. Puffy face, the red shiny nose like he’s been drinking all day and all night… um um um… glasses. Pink plastic glasses. With the rhinestones. Biddy glasses — oh, yeah, natural nail polish.”

“Eye color?”

“Don’t know, sir. That long ago, all I really can remember is the ugly. Working at it, you know? Gray wig like a dishcloth, tweed two-piece, all baggy and heavy — green velvet trim.” Retching sound. “Shoes you could step in mud no one’s gonna notice. Like a scarf’s gonna fix all that?”

“He wore a scarf,” said Milo.

“Only pretty part of the whole on-sombel,” said Tasha. “Purpley, gor-juss. Louie Vee-town. What a waste.”

As I continued through East Hollywood, into Silver Lake and Echo Park, Milo pressed for more details on Tony Mancusi’s confidant, got nothing. The lights of downtown came into view.

Tasha yawned.

Milo said, “Here’s a picture of a guy we know.”

“Hairy bear,” said Tasha.

“Could he be the wannaboo?”

“Take a clippers to him, maybe I could tell you.”

“Try to look past the hair.”

“Sorry, sir, I want to be honest. Too much coiffure.”

“Did you get a sense Tony and Tweed knew each other before the party?”

“Tweed, heh, yeah that should be his name. Never saw him or Tony before, never saw him after. Never went to another party up there. Because my sweet old lawyer told me not to. Wanted me all to himself when he’s in town. Backed it up with le money. Still does.”

“But you still have time for Tony.”

“Too much free time’s a bad thing, sir. Nothing’s for free.”

“What gets Tony off?”

“Being sorry.”

“For himself?”