We finally got to a store where the beer was cheap enough to satisfy Myra, so I waited outside while she went in and bought it. I asked her to grab me some smokes and a new lighter. Mine was dead. She was in and out in no time with a case of good, cheap cerveza, the kind that didn’t give you a hangover, just kept you farting for a week. Fine by me. I offered to carry the case, but she refused.

As we strolled back to the loft, a police car cruised by us slowly. I didn’t want to, but I looked over anyway. The cops inside the squad car were clean, slick, and blond. They checked us out and then moved on. I must’ve tensed up. Myra noticed.

“You’re not a cop, are you?” Myra asked, with suspicion in her voice.

“I was, for about a year. I’m a private investigator now.”

“What happened?” she walked beside me with a spring in her step, looking me right in my eyes.

“Drug test. I failed with flying colors.”

Myra smiled. My slipshod career as a law enforcement officer seemed to have scored me some points. I decided to give it a test run.

“Do you think there’s any way you could get John and Sean out of the house? I want to get a look at that basement.”

“God, I don’t know. Maybe John, but Sean won’t even talk to me.”

“Forget it. How about just offering them some beer? Maybe distract them and give me a chance to check them out closer.”

“Sure, John’s a classic freeloader. He’ll stampede for free alcohol.”

Back at the loft, we put the beer in the refrigerator and settled into the living area. Myra showed me some of her artwork. It was good. The subject matter—hotrods and chicks—was a bit tired, but she had talent.

I could hear one of the two suspects coughing in another area of the warehouse. Choking on a baby, I thought, then dismissed the idea. No use jumping to conclusions until I knew exactly what I was dealing with.

On Myra’s request, we settled in on the couch and commenced drinking and smoking. I drank down two cans of beer in the time she polished off one. It was the speed. My tolerance was up. My teeth tingled.

After a while, I heard the coughing again and this time it was close by. I looked up to see John standing at the entrance to the kitchen area.

“Mind if I grab a beer?” he asked, smiling.

“Help yourself,” Myra and I said together.

I turned and winked at her. She giggled and put her hand on my knee.

In the kitchen I heard the fridge open and close, then John coughed, hocked, and spit. Lovely.

By the time he came into the room, I needed another beer. He settled into the chair beside the couch as I moved past, into the kitchen. He watched me, smiling like it was the only expression he could muster.