“What?”

“What do you know about Don Kalfus?”

Bader looked incredulous. “Jesus, Kunkle. Why don’t you ask him yourself? You are so weird.”

“I’ve heard that,” Willy agreed. “Kalfus is dead, and some people think you might be involved.”

At last properly stimulated, Bader sat up completely, his mouth open in protest. “Oh, no you don’t. I know shit about that. I done some business with Kalfus, that’s all. I never killed nobody in my life, and I sure as hell never killed him. I didn’t even know he was dead. You know that, Kunkle. Why’re you giving me crap?”

“You’re low-hanging fruit, Darren. I bring you in, I can get on with my day. It’s up to you to prove me wrong.”

“What? You can’t do that.”

“Convince me.”

“Damn. That’s not fair.”

“When did you last see Kalfus? Give me what you got.”

As Willy had hoped, Bader needed no more persuasion.

“Okay. I seen him maybe a month ago.”

“Why?”

“Just a deal. Nothin’ new. He had somethin’. I said I’d take it off him for a cut.”

“What was it?”

“I tell you, you lock me up. I’m not stupid.”

Willy slid off the chair and squatted down to adjust their sight lines, making things slightly friendlier. “This is a conversation, Darren. I’m here to talk only. I’m working for the Feds now. If I busted you, they’d throw you right back. They have minimum requirements, like with fishing limits. You’re too small. So talk.”

“It was a car. I know people he doesn’t. He found an easy steal on one of his shopping trips. That’s what he called ’em. So he comes to me, I get rid of it, and I give him a finder’s fee. It’s dumb. He could make more peddling it himself, but he doesn’t want to.”

“Wasn’t it a car deal with him that got you put behind bars?” Willy asked. “I heard you were steamed about that, and now you tell me you’re doing the same thing all over again. You know what that makes you, right?”

“Up yours.”

“You weren’t still pissed at him?”

“I was the one who got caught at the wheel.”

“You blamed him anyhow.”

“I got over it. I had to blame somebody.”

Willy was impressed by the self-analysis. “Okay,” he said. “You two work together often?”

“Now and then. Lotta cars out there. Lotta rich people with nice rides.”

Willy figured anyone with a used Yugo would strike Darren as rich. That made for a large marketplace. “Don sounds pretty offbeat,” Willy commented. “Tell me about him. We never met.”

“I could never figure him out,” Darren admitted.

“In what way?”

“Like not doing dope. Everybody does a little. But not him. What’s that about?”

“What did he do with his money, if he didn’t blow it like the rest of you?”

Bader chuckled, looking baffled. “He had a checking account. Can you believe that? He saved it, like he was gonna buy a house or some crazy shit. He ran around, ripping people off, so he could end up just like them, protecting his stuff behind a locked door, worrying about mortgage payments and car repairs and insurance. It was nuts. He totally didn’t get it.”