“Okay, okay,” Decker said, trying to calm her down. “I believe you. But I really need your man’s name just to clear him. Just so I can go back to the district attorney and say, ‘Hey, the woman’s man definitely didn’t wield the knife. It wasn’t a domestic type of thing. Go ahead with the case as is.’”

“I won’t give you his name,” Myra said.

“Your man really has you spooked, huh?”

Myra said nothing.

“Your man a Santeria?” Decker asked.

The whore stiffened.

“A Palo Mayombero,” Decker said. “Or maybe he has a tía who’s a bruja. She’ll put a hex on you—”

“Stop it!”

“You don’t really believe that shit, do you?”

Myra didn’t answer right away. Finally, she said, “I like to stay healthy, man. I like to stay healthy.”

Decker regarded her. She looked anything but healthy, but the irony was lost.

“I want to help you, Myra,” he said. “I want to make sure the guy is really guilty, so trial is out of the question, and we’ve got the goodies, so he’ll be begging to bargain. But if you don’t cooperate, give us your pimp’s name, PD may get wind of what’s going on, that his client has an out—your man. He’ll insist on a trial. Then Mama may find out.”

Myra broke her emery board in half. “You’re bastards, all of you. Don’t give a fuck what happens as long as you get your fucking gold star. So what if my mama finds out, if my man finds out? So what? Who gives a shit about Myra—the victim!” She laughed bitterly. “That’s what I am. A fucking victim—twice.”

Her eyes remained hard, but they were moist as well. Decker took a minute to think. He focused in on Abel, on all they’d gone through together. Yes, he had saved Abel’s ass. But Decker couldn’t count the number of times that Abel had saved him as well. It had been so common back then. Everyone saving everyone else’s ass. Best thing you could have done was get along with everyone on your side. Because you never knew if someday that guy you called an asshole was the one to yank you down when enemy fire started, to jerk you away from stepping on a land mine, cover your body when a grenade exploded. Something you just did. Saved asses.

But that was then. Decker, the empathic rape cop of today, said, “You are a victim. And I’m sorry. Again, I’ll find your man without your help.”

“I bet,” Myra said. She brushed tears away from her eyes and sunk under her covers. “My man finds out I talked to another cop, he’s gonna fix me good.”