“Can’t you see that this dude and dudette are law? They ain’t here to roust us none. Law’s not crazy enough to roust us with just two people—one of them only a woman. Sheeeet. Use your head, Pig.”

“Why’s he here then?” Pig said.

“Move your fat ass and I’ll find out.” The muscled biker gave Pig a shove. “Get out of their fucking way, man.”

Pig spat, muttered obscenities, but stepped aside.

“This way,” the muscle man said. “I’m Chip. I own the place. We’ll talk inside, in the back. It’s about the Darcy thing, ain’t it?”

“Yes,” Decker said.

“Who are you two?”

Marge briefly explained their business, their connection to the Darcy murders.

Chip seemed satisfied. He led them inside—a dimly lit tavern/poolhall. Six green-felted tables—two of them in use—rested on straw-covered floors. Three fly fans were working overtime, whirling smoky air from one corner of the room to the other. The bar was U-shaped, occupying the two side and back walls. A dozen bikers were parked around the bar top, big leathery hands gripping beer bottles and whiskey glasses, drumming offbeat rhythms to ZZ Top.

Decker and Marge followed Chip through a door at the end of the back bar, into the well-lit kitchen, which reeked of ripe cheese and garlic. Swirls of flour had dusted the countertops and coated the floor. A rectangular butcher-block table sat in the middle, filled with pizza pans, stacks of cheese, and bowls of tomato sauce and toppings. A runt of a kid was spooning sauce onto pizza dough, his body junkie-thin. Two middle-aged Hispanics were cleaning the pizza oven and cooktop. A walk-in cooler spanned the back wall.

Chip stopped, leaned against the table and screamed at the kid. Something about the pizza sauce. The kid lifted up his head and nodded, his eyes hooded by drooping lids.

“Shit-for-brains,” Chip muttered. He motioned them back toward the cooler. “He wastes half the sauce, splattering it all over the place. Goddam, it’s hard to get good people.” He surveyed the kitchen, told one of the Hispanics in fluent Spanish to bring more beer out front, explaining that the pizza wasn’t served until noon, but the booze was served as soon as the doors opened.

Chip wiped his face on his apron, then said to Decker, “Pig’s right in a way. You shouldn’t be coming in here without warning. Some of them out there don’t like the police.”

“I take it Pig has had some prior trouble with the law,” Decker said.

“Man, I don’t want to go into that. Let’s just say the police make Pig jumpy.”

Decker said, “Right now, I’m not interested in anyone’s past. I’m only interested in the Darcys.”

Chip eyed Marge, then said to Decker, “You two ever fool around…like ball on your lunch hour?”

Marge broke into laughter.