“You want a fuckin’ reason. I’ll give you a fuckin’ reason. Willie’s little brother, Marco. You want more?”

Starrell was shouting, and the waiters were staring.

“I’ll give you more. Steven Reeves. Macky Dobb’s sister. Ty Forrest. Hitch Blackwell. Tamika’s brother Wendell. My cousin Barry. Ask my unc about him.”

“All dead?”

“You’re a fuckin’ genius,” Starrell muttered.

Dunne called over the waiter and ordered for both of them.

“I hate this slop,” Starrell said.

“It won’t be too hard. You go to the bars, you look around, you ask for Raymond. You know what he looks like. And if anyone asks why, you tell them he left stuff behind when he moved his office and you have it.”

“Why don’t you go lookin’ for the fag?”

“If I go looking for him, people will wonder why. I’m a little more visible than you. My picture’s been in the papers a lot this week.”

“’Cause of the blow-away at the White House?”

“Yeah, the blow-away.”

“And what if any of my buds catches my ass going into an ass-fuckers hole?”

“Tell them Raymond owes your uncle money and you’re looking for his sorry ass.”

“And how I’m supposed to know where to be going?”

“I have a list.”

Starrell raised an eyebrow.

“Consulted with a friend,” Dunne said.

“If one of those pussies fuckin’ looks at me—”

Dunne leaned in close to Starrell.

“You do nothing,” Dunne said, his voice steely. “You walk away, and you keep looking for Raymond. This is a job. If you can’t do it straight up, then screw it.”

“How much?”

“The sneaks times three. That’s for today. After that, we’ll negotiate the additional pay.”

“Rockford got five C’s a day. And that was a long-ass time ago. Before fuckin’ cable.”

“Prove to me you’re worth it.”

“I’m fuckin’ worth it.”

“Just like you got to prove it to Tamika.”

Starrell frowned; he crossed his arms.

“Don’t you ever …”

Can’t finish that sentence, can you? Dunne thought.

“Don’t,” Starrell said.

The food came. Dunne started in on the chow fung noodles. Starrell pushed aside his plate.

“Told you,” he said.

Dunne poured tea into the two cups on the table.

“Okay,” Starrell said, “but you got to tell me one thing.”

“What’s that?” Dunne asked.

“Why you’re looking for that squirrel-face.”

“Can’t.” Dunne spooned out hot chilies over the noodles.

“Then you don’t got nobody to chase your cocksucker.”

“Okay. And you go back to the toilet. Without six hundred dollars. And don’t forget to tell Tamika what you turned down. So be it.”

“So be your Tommin’ ass.”

Starrell slid back his chair, as if he were preparing to stand.

“It’s about Big Man being dropped at the White House?”