On the sixth floor of the Fulwilder building the lights were out in the corner office, which figured. Humpty Dumpty must have waddled back to his bungalow in order to catch up on the sleep he hadn’t got behind his desk all day.

Litsky turned onto Fairfax and pulled into O’Malley’s. As usual, the place was empty. O’Malley himself was standing on a pantry stool taking down the colored lights that were still hanging behind the bar.

—Hey, Santy Claus.

O’Malley looked back with a grimace. He stepped off the stool, leaving the lights swinging from a hook.

—A round on me for everyone in the house, said Litsky.

—Hardy har, said O’Malley.

He grabbed a bottle by the neck like it was a duck he was about to strangle. Once he’d poured the whiskey, he finally took in Litsky’s expression.

—You look like the canary in the coal mine, he observed.

—It’s the cat who caught the canary, you flummox. But you’re on the right track.

—Cats, coal mines, said O’Malley with a shrug. What gives?

Litsky waggled his empty glass and put it on the bar.

—Just keep these coming. Then maybe I’ll teach you a thing or two about this town.

O’Malley reached for the bottle and Litsky headed for the phone booth in back. After shutting himself in, he took off his hat and pulled a scrap of paper from the inside band. Ragged and stained it was scratched with five different numbers that were none too easy to come by. Litsky dialed the fifth. Even from the sleepy style in which he drawled Hello, you could tell that Marcus Benton was an educated man. A measured man. A man who knew the difference between the pennywise and poundfoolish.

—This is Jeremiah Litsky, Litsky said into the receiver—That’s right, that Litsky—Yeah, I know what time it is—Never mind how I got your number. You’ll be glad I’ve got it—That’s it, counselor. I’ve a certain something you’ll want to get your hands on—How big? You’re going to need a ladder to see over it—You know the diner on Wilshire & Clay?—Maybe you should come see me there some time. Like tomorrow at eight. And bring your wallet.

Litsky rang off.

Because here’s the thing: Fred and Edna loved to see the girl next door, all right—sitting on the tippity top of the silvery screen. But the only thing they loved more than that was seeing her tumble back down. That didn’t mean Fred and Edna were bad people. There wasn’t a mean-spirited bone in their bodies. They just couldn’t help themselves. The scientists call it human nature; which is just a fancy term for the God-given flaws we have no intention of giving back.