“What’s that mean?” I said.

“A special rover, one more important than the rest, one who’s like royalty to them. A rover who could lead you to a hundred others. If I gave you someone like that, could we make a deal?”

“A deal?” I said.

“I take you to this cat and you let me go.”

“No way,” I said.

“I didn’t kill your son.”

“You killed someone’s.”

Sally drummed his fingers on the table. “How about this then,” he said. “How about you catch this cat, put him in the box, and dust me?”

20

20

NONE OF THE FIENDS SLEEP WELL AFTER BOB 1 IS DUSTED. Pedro and Johnny toss and turn and jump at every little sound. Yuma and Real Deal argue over nothing. Bob 2 smokes a joint, drinks a bottle of whiskey, and stares at the TV, trying to ignore the empty bed beside him as the day drags on, never-ending.

When night finally smothers the sun and makes the world safe for her bastards, the gang emerge from their rooms and gather by the pool. Antonia and Elijah bring everyone foam cups of lobby coffee, and Pedro passes a pint of VO to sweeten it. They drink a toast to the dead Bob and get down to business.

Antonia has a map of Phoenix. She’s divided it into three sections. She and Elijah will take one, Real Deal and Yuma another, Bob and Johnny and Pedro the third. They’ll crisscross the city, searching for the pair who dusted Bob and stole the baby. It was a young man and an old one, but Antonia tells them to grab anyone turned and put the screws to them.

Bob’s not happy with the section he and Pedro and Johnny have been assigned. It’s mostly sleepy housing tracts and farmland that’ll soon be sleepy housing tracts. No dive bars, no whore strolls, no strip clubs or dirty bookstores—nowhere they’re likely to find a rover on the hunt.

Hopped up on bathtub crank, he’s riding bitch behind Pedro. They pull over and check a miniature golf course, walk through a supermarket, and sit in front of a movie theater as the show lets out. Nothing but clean-cut squares and their clean-cut wives and kids.

Eventually they come upon a discotheque glowing pink and purple at the edge of civilization. Next to it is a freshly uprooted orchard with a sign planted on it that reads FUTURE SITE OF SUNSET ESTATES. AFFORDABLE LUXURY. The disco is no massage parlor or dime-a-dance cantina, but the parking lot is full, so they decide to have a look inside.

Two men guard the door. One is wearing a denim suit and a white polyester shirt unbuttoned to display the gold chains around his neck. The other is a big Indian bruiser in a tank top and tight jeans.