Son of a bitch! That was where she’d seen that Douglas Miller—the asshole child-stealing father. He’d been booked here once as a 502, and a real mean drunk at that. They’d brought him in, cussing and fighting. She’d just happened to be downstairs. Must have been six months ago. Only he was definitely not using the name Miller. What the hell had they booked him under? Marge remembered hearing the name, but couldn’t bring it up from the storage banks. She debated calling Benko, but decided to handle it herself. She stood up and said, “I’m going downstairs for a minute.”

“Don’t stay too long,” Paul said. “Your sexual aura might make the incarcerated misfortunates horny.”

Decker said to Marge, “Helping Clerical out?”

“Funny, Pete.” Her eyes never wavered from her desk, which was covered with stacks of booking slips.

“Seriously,” Decker said. “What are you doing?”

Marge checked her watch. “I could ask you the same thing. It’s one-forty, and you haven’t even logged in.”

“I was at court.”

“All this time?”

“I also had some personal business to attend to.”

Marge smiled. “Man may not get it too often, but when he does, it’s gourmet.”

“I wish.”

Marge raised her head. “You and Rina having problems?”

Decker laughed. “No. I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant I wish that was what I was doing all morning.”

“And what were you doing?”

“Chasing down a Marielito pimp who’s into devil worship. He calls himself El Dorado.”

“Like in the Cadillac?”

“The very one,” Decker said. “Never found the golden man, but I don’t need him anymore.”

“What’d you need him for?”

“He’s the pimp of the girl my alleged rape-o friend cut up. I figured he might have gotten mad at her, cut her up, and the girl was protecting him. I had to rule him out. And unfortunately for Abel, I did. Old El Dorado Juarez had a nice alibi.”

“Which was?”

“I didn’t talk to him directly, but I found out where he was when the assault went down—at a script meeting in the office of a major film producer. He was there the whole night with the producer and seven of his lackeys. Seems he—like everyone else in L.A.—has written a screenplay, and this producer bought it for six figures.”

“Jesus.”

“Producer’s secretary says it’s a…let me find my exact notes…here they are. Get this: ‘a riveting firsthand account of his life—from the Mariel boat lift from Cuba where he was imprisoned as a political enemy…’ Guy actually ax-murdered his ex-girlfriend’s brother—”

“Jesus!”