Stretched out in the passenger’s seat of the unmarked, Benderhoff slurped coffee from a Styrofoam cup and said, “So what if it goes to the DA? Your little boy’s gonna plea bargain for state’s witness against Heinrich, who did the stabbing. All the gay stuff is gonna come out.”

“You’re assuming there’s enough evidence against my little boy to prosecute,” Decker said. He was driving south on Figueroa, heading back toward Central Substation.

“Yeah,” Benderhoff said. “Good point. State don’t got no witnesses, no physical evidence, state don’t got diddly-squat on your boy. Just the word of Count Heinrich and that’s worth shit. So maybe we can keep the old guy’s secret a secret, huh?”

“I hope so,” Decker said. He finished his coffee, bunched the Styrofoam into a ball and threw it in the backseat.

Benderhoff said, “Know something? The coffee’s pretty good.”

“It should be at two fifty a throw,” Decker said.

“No one ever said the Belle Maison was cheap,” Benderhoff said. “They really should have comped us.”

Decker said, “At least no one can accuse us of taking graft.”

Benderhoff laughed. “Well, Count Heinrich was never a paying guest there. You know this dude better than I do. Where do you think he is?”

Decker said, “I think my boy called his aunt using a booth near the freeway interchanges. I’m going to check out locations. We could also try the local dives in this area.”

Benderhoff said, “I’ll check out the downtown sewer holes. I know all the guys anyway.”

“Sounds good,” Decker said.

“Although if I were them, I wouldn’t stick around too close to my dirty work,” Benderhoff said.

“Yep,” Decker said. “They’ve probably split. I’ve got about another four, maybe five days until I officially come back to work. I’ll keep looking. I find anything, I’ll call you first.”

“Likewise,” Benderhoff said. “Nice working with you.”

“Same,” Decker said. “Let me ask you something. How’d you get a name like Felipe Benderhoff?”

“A Peruvian mother and a German father,” Benderhoff said. “Their marriage was shit from day one. My old man was twenty years older than my mother. If truth be told, I think he was an ex-Nazi. Anyway, my mother was hot-blooded, always going hysterical. My father had ice water in his veins. But something good did come out of it. My coloring. My baby blues and my thick black hair. Drives the women wild.”

He paused, then said, “I’m colored like your wife.”

Decker said, “She’s fairer.”

“Yeah, but I mean the hair and the eyes.”

Decker said that was true.

“Maybe I’m her long-lost brother,” Benderhoff quipped.

“Not a chance,” Decker said.

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