The woman shouted louder and the young man froze. She covered the four feet between them with three choppy steps, talked and gesticulated and held out her hand. The young man drew a yellow scrap of paper out of his pocket.

The woman took it and handed it to Milo. Western Union receipt verifying that Carlos Miguel Bermudez had wired ninety-five dollars and fifty-three cents to a money-transfer office in Mascota, Mexico. The date of the transaction was yesterday.

Milo said, “That’s all he’s got?”

“He not Nestor,” said the woman.

“Nestor got fired?”

“No, no.” The woman’s eyes got heavy around the lids. “Nestor got dead.”

“When?” said Milo.

“Few weeks ago,” said the woman. “I think.”

“You think?”

“Nestor din’t show up much when he was alive.”

“How’d you find out he’s dead?”

“He sister tell me. I give him the job because I like her, nice girl.”

“How’d Nestor die?”

“She don’t say.”

“How long did Nestor work here— officially?”

She frowned. “Maybe a month.”

“Bad attendance, huh?”

“Bad attitude.” Another glance behind us. No customers. “You no want to eat?”

Milo returned the yellow scrap to her and she slipped it into her apron. Carlos the cook was still standing around, looking nervous.

“No, thanks,” said Milo. He smiled past her. Carlos bit his lip. “What’s Nestor’s sister’s name, ma’am?”

“Anita.”

“Where does she live?”

“She work at the dentista— up three blocks.”

“Know the dentist’s name?”

“Chinese,” she said. “Black building. You wanna drink?”

Milo ordered a lemon soda and when she tried to comp him, he left a five on the counter and made her smile.

By the time we got back in the unmarked, the lunch line had resumed.

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 22

Drs. Chang, Kim, Mendoza, and Quinones practiced in a one-story building veneered with shiny black ceramic tile. White graffiti stuck to the bottom of the facade like food-fight pasta. The sign above the door said, Easy Credit, Painless Dentistry, Medi-Cal Accepted.

Inside was a waiting room full of suffering people. Milo marched past them and tapped the reception window. When it opened, he asked for Anita Almedeira.

The Asian receptionist lowered her glasses. “The only Anita we have is Anita Moss.”

“Then I’d like to speak with her.”

“She’s busy but I’ll go see.”

The waiting room smelled of wintergreen and stale laundry and rug cleaner. The magazines in the wall rack were in Spanish and Korean.

A pale woman in her late twenties came to the reception desk. She had long, straight black hair, a round face, and smooth, sedate features. Her pink nylon uniform skirt showed off a full, firm figure. Her nametag said A. Moss, Registered Dental Hygienist. Lovely white teeth when she smiled; the job had its perks.

“I’m Anita. May I help you?”

Milo flashed the badge. “Are you Nestor Almedeira’s sister, ma’am?”