“Blossom Club.” She pushed the matches closer to me. “This was on the floor when I rolled her over. It’s a new club downtown. Dime-a-dance place.”

What would Carmen Luzano be doing in a place like that when she had a good job with Monica Fullbright? That didn’t figure. I didn’t even know those places still existed.

“I don’t know who that girl is we found, but she’s not the Guatemalan you told me about,” said Lupe, cutting in on my thoughts.

“Of course she is. How can you tell what nationality someone is just by looking at them?”

“Her teeth were in real good shape. Unnaturally good shape. Caps, I think. She had a vaccination scar on her arm, and the insides of her legs were shaved. Those latin girls let it grow, like jungles. I say she’s an American, a chicana.”

I swirled the empty martini glass in my hand. “It’s pretty hard to believe that some complete stranger would just happen to wander into the same room where I’m supposed to meet Carmen Luzano and then die.”

“Suit yourself. I’m only telling what I seen,” Lupe said, still angry, picking up her glass again. The cowboys lurched into a drunken version of “Rancho Grande” and were shouting to be heard over Bobby Darin.

Impartially I tried to let this information sink in. The din of ragged voices was starting to give me a headache, and the cheap gin was eating at my empty stomach. It would save a lot of trouble if the dead woman were some random interloper. But now that Lupe had thrown down the gauntlet, I had to prove the dead woman was Carmen Luzano. And I owed it to my client. It wasn’t just that Monica Fullbright had bought my time; it was more than that. Whenever I think of turning my back on something I’ve begun, I hear that old familiar refrain of my father: “Quitters never win and winners never quit.” I heard it now and deep in my gut recognized it. It was the strange and probably unhealthy combination of feelings that I have had all of my life; a feeling of duty, of responsibility, and the belief that there is some one perfect act I can perform to win Daddy’s love.

The door to 320 hadn’t been locked. Maybe Lupe was right. Maybe it was just a neighborhood shooting gallery.

I slid a ten to the fat man. “I’ll go back to have another look at her,” I announced to Lupe. She was on her feet and behind me although I didn’t ask her to come and I didn’t want her with me.