“Christ,” said Brad. “Talking about what?”

Billy’s eyes were slits. “Where’s the lowlife?”

“In jail,” said Brad. To me: “Right?”

“He’s in custody.”

“For how long?” said Billy.

“A long time,” I said.

“Tell me when he gets out so I can shoot his ass.”

Brad said, “Billy, stop!”

Billy glared. Breathed heavily.

Brad tried to touch him. Again, Billy shook him off. “I’ll stop now, fine, okay. But when he gets out I’ll shoot a bullet up his ass.” He punched air.

“Billy, that’s— ”

“Reyn was my friend.”

“Bill, he wasn’t a real— okay, okay, whatever, Bill, I’m sorry. He was your friend, you have every right to be upset.”

“I’m not upset. I’m pissed.”

“Fine, be pissed.” Back to me: “An argument? Jesus, I was going to go by that building today or tomorrow.”

“Why?”

Brad cocked a head toward his brother. Billy was studying the grass. “Making the circuit.”

About to fire and evict Peaty.

Billy punched his palm. “Reyn was my friend. Now he’s dead. That’s fucked up.”

I said, “What did you and Reyn do together, Billy?”

Brad tried to step between Billy and me but Billy twisted around him. “Reyn was polite to me.”

Brad said, “Billy, Reyn had some problems. Remember I told you about them— ”

“Driving too fast. So what, you do that, Brad.”

“Billy...” Brad smiled and shrugged.

Billy cocked his head at the Cadillac. “Not in the ’59, the ’59’s too fucking slow— that’s what you always say, too fucking slow to move its big old fucking ass. You drive fast in the Sting Ray and the Porsche and the Austin— ”

“Fine,” Brad snapped. He smiled again. “The detective gets it, Bill.”

“You say the Ray’s as fast as that girl in your class...what was her name— er, er, er, Jocelyn...the Sting Ray’s as fast as Jocelyn...Jocelyn...Olderson...Oldenson...and just as expensive. You always say that, the Sting— ”

“That’s a joke, Bill.”

“I’m not laughing,” said Billy. To me: “Reyn drove too fast a long time ago and got in trouble. Does that mean he has to get his ass killed?”

Brad said, “No one’s saying that, Billy.”

“I’m asking him, Brad.”

“It doesn’t mean that,” I said.

“It fucking pisses me off.” Billy broke free again, headed for the driveway. Climbing over the Caddy’s passenger door with some effort, he sank down, arms folded, and stared straight ahead.

Brad said, “Climbing in like that, he knows that’s against the— he must really be upset, though for the life of me I can’t tell you why.”

“He considers Peaty his friend.”

He lowered his voice. “Wishful thinking.”

“What do you mean?”