“See what you mean. His name—”

“I called this place Tigray, know what it means?”

“Tiger?”

“No, man, that’s Spanish, with an ‘e.’ This is with a ‘y,’ that my tribe. Tigray nobles from Eritrea. All my life I’ve had lucid dreams informing me I’m from the union of Sheba and Solomon.”

I nodded.

“You don’t believe me,” he said, “that’s your problem. The day will come when monarchs arise and the truth blinds.”

“Hope it helps with the traffic problem.”

He stared at me. Cracked up. “Okay, you’re a comedian, I like comedians, did a few in my day.” Rattling off a series of names, some famous, others obscure.

“Mostly,” he said, “they do it hidden. What I call MBA ink.”

“Like a mullet,” I said. “Business in front, party in back.”

“Mullet’s for rednecks.” He poked Frankie DiMargio’s photo. Her image rippled. “Sorry for her, she looks like she was a serious chick. Good bone structure, I could’ve done her proud. Tigretto wasted her time.”

“That’s the name of your brother’s shop.”

“No, man, that’s what he calls himself. Tigretto aka Little Tigray. Like we’re Italian or something. The shop is Zanzibar. Like he’s from there.” Laughter. “He’s from Pasadena.”

Thirty-five minutes later I was facing a soft-bodied, light-skinned black man with a baby face. A shaved head helped foster the image of an overgrown infant. So did his voice. Michael Jackson in a hurry.

His layout was identical to his brother’s, tattoos plus random junk. When he saw Frankie DiMargio’s picture, he said, “Oh, sure, the quiet one. She send you?” Looking me over. “You want MBA ink?”

“Unfortunately, she’s dead,” I said. “Murdered.” Anticipating his next question, I flicked the consultant’s badge. He gaped, paid no attention to my insufficient qualifications.

“Murdered? Oh, no, by who?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

Tigretto’s eyes moistened. “I’m so sorry for her, she was a great customer.” Pointing. “I did that and that and that.”

“Who did the rest of it?”

“No idea.”

“How long has she been coming in?”

“A few months.”

“Did she ever come in with anyone else?”

“With a guy,” said Tigretto. “Her boyfriend, he knew what he wanted for her. Him I knew before because he came in with another chick. Total virgin, she was going to make the plunge but wimped out.”

“When was that?”

“Hmm … I’d say maybe … a year ago? Less, six, seven months. Then he came in with Frankie and she went all-out. I figured maybe that’s why he found himself a new chick, the first one didn’t cooperate.”

“Can you describe the first one?”