“Anybody know what he was doing here?” Martinez asked. “In back of Tracadero’s specifically.”

“No,” Decker said. “Call me in an hour to brief me on your progress.”

Tom nodded. “You want to drive, Bert?”

“No problem. You want some coffee?”

“You got coffee?”

“A whole jug of Mexican stuff—strong and spicy. I also got some pasteles and fried tortillas with powdered sugar. Wife’s a good cook.” Martinez patted his gut. “Too good.”

“Y’all don’t have to eat it.”

“If it’s in front of me, I eat it.”

Decker watched them disappear in a swirling snowstorm of street-lit mist. Decker folded his arms over his chest, let out a fog-visible sigh. Farrell Gaynor was still poking around the scene. Decker walked over to the Buick.

“Impound should be here momentarily, Loo.” Gaynor was half in, half out of the car, legs dangling from the interior. Finally, he began to push his body out. It looked like the Buick was giving birth to a breech baby. He straightened his spine, handed some paper to Decker. “Couple of gas credit slips. He kept his car real neat. Not surprising considering what he does.”

“Yeah, think you would want your heart surgeon to be the compulsive type.”

“Now, this is more interesting, Loo.” Gaynor offered Decker a white business card.

“Wait, let me put my gloves on.” He slipped on latex, then took the piece of paper.

The background was imprinted with the Harley-Davidson logo—wings attached to a big H. Bold Gothic letters were overlaid across the center of the card.

Everyone needs an Ace In The Hole.

Because Sparks fly hard and hot.

Born to be Wild.

No address, no phone number on the front. Decker flipped the card over. Nothing on the back, either.

Gaynor said, “What do you make of it?”

“Where’d you find it?”

“In the glove compartment,” Gaynor answered. “Stuck between the pages of a Thomas guide. Only other thing in the compartment was the owner’s manual.”

“Ace In The Hole? Sparks fly…?” Decker laughed. “Azor Sparks. Ace Sparks?”

“Maybe the good doctor is a secret Hell’s Angel.”

“Yeah, he’s really a kingpin crank supplier who’s been manufacturing meth out of his hospital lab,” Decker said.

“Can’t you see it in the headlines?” Gaynor said. “Head doctor is secret head.” Suddenly, he grew pensive. “You know, Loo, the case does have the look of a drug retaliation hit.”

Decker laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

“Lots of brutality. You yourself said it looks like a gang hit. I know it sounds lunatic. But maybe it’s worth checking out.”

“It’s absurd.”

“So is finding that card in Sparks’s car.”

“Unless it isn’t his. Could belong to one of his kids.”

“Ace sounds like Azor to me.”