I ripped another couple of bucks out of my wallet. It was one of the movie theaters decorated in gray and red and intended to be classy, but the floors were sticky and littered with Milk Dud boxes. The movie was loud and violent, badly directed, badly acted. There were lots of explosions. Lupe watched contentedly. I closed my eyes to think my own thoughts. She was right, of course. Until all women are equal... I’m going to get whoever killed Cathy Vega, I vowed against the background of squealing tires and gunshots. And I would do it without Lupe. Thank you. How long did she think she could stay with me? I had to make it clear to her that tonight was her last night. No exceptions. Lupe stirred slightly at my side; she had put on more of the perfume with the rose base.

It was a slow day but not unpleasant, I had to admit. We spent some more time around the apartment and went out for a pizza at night.

Monday I had to go to Department 117 on the eleventh floor of the criminal courts building to do an arraignment and trial setting on a possession of heroin for sale. It was something I was handling for an old guy named Burt Schaefer while he was in Hawaii. I did the prelim, and when the guy was bound over, Burt told me to go ahead and get the case ready for trial. Burt’s been practicing twenty-five years, running himself ragged racing from court to court trying to pick up appointments, always booking more work than he can possibly handle. I’ve been lucky to get in on his informal overflow list. I don’t know how he gets away with it. He’s got peptic ulcers, high blood pressure, and he’s at least sixty pounds overweight. He wears a chain across his fat stomach with rabbits’ feet and things that are supposed to look like Phi Beta Kappa keys dangling from it.

Burt himself was in court when I arrived. He was sunburned, pieces of charred skin hanging from his jowls. I was glad to see him. He owed me a couple of hundred bucks and he was always good for cash.

“How’s it going, kid?” Burt always calls me kid, but I’ve noticed he looks at my tits a lot.

Picking up my transcript copy from the counsel table, I took a seat next to Burt in one of the chairs shoved against the partition that divides the counsel table from the peanut gallery. Burt was having a schmooze with the court reporter, who was knitting and nodding intermittently in his direction.

“So, you’re going to trial, kid?” he cracked.