Decker took a sip, then a healthy swig of his scotch. He glanced up at the TV set—a soccer game from Mexico. He’d never liked soccer much, but after watching Rina’s boys play, he’d developed an appreciation for it. He leaned against the bar and listened to the TV announcer rattle off a blow-by-blow of the previous quarter. Decker understood it all, his Spanish as fluent as ever. He had first learned the language as a beat cop in Miami in order to decipher all the bullshit the Cubans gave him. Man, could they bullshit!

His glass was empty and he ordered another.

He’d joined the LAPD after his brief fling as a lawyer, and they’d sent him straight to East L.A. A goddam mistake. Latinos didn’t trust a white boy who understood their tongue. He’d always be a spy, and try as he would, he could never ingratiate himself. The hell with ’em.

He drank the booze and set down the empty glass.

Ed Fordebrand materialized. He was wearing a red-and-green plaid sports shirt, brown slacks, polished oxfords, and a tan leather jacket.

“What the hell are you doing here, Deck?”

“What the fuck does it look like?”

“You and Rina had a—”

“No.” Decker ordered a third scotch.

“The bones in the mountains turned out messy, huh, Rabbi?”

“I’m not a fucking rabbi,” Decker snapped. He took a gulp of whiskey and finally began to feel a glow. He slapped Fordebrand on the back. “Let me buy you one, Ed.”

“Won’t turn it down.”

“How’s Annette?”

“Getting old and crotchety. On my ass, day and night.” Fordebrand ordered a bourbon and Seven. “But we’re used to each other. I’m not saying divorce hasn’t crossed my mind. Or hers for that matter. Seems we just never got around to it. Linda’s almost out of the house. She’s the last of them. We’ll see what happens then.”

Pat wiped the counter and placed the bourbon in front of Fordebrand.

“Drink up,” Decker said. “I’ll buy you another.”

“One a day is my ration. I run into problems if I don’t stick to it.” Fordebrand eyed Decker. “You never were much of a boozer, were you, Pete?”

Decker shook his head and ordered another. “Usually I work instead. Now I’m here to avoid work. And nothing waiting for me at home except piles of horseshit.”

“What about Rina?”

“What about her?” Decker’s expression soured. “Why bother talking to them, you know? All they do is get all worried and start praying, and pretty soon you’re telling things they can’t handle, and then all you’ve got is a hysterical woman on your hands.”

Fordebrand paused a moment, then said, “I only met her a couple of times, but Rina never seemed to be the hysterical type.”