“Community service. And if you don’t, I’m going hunting for you, Clementine. Your whores’ll be marked. Your ‘livelihood’ will wind up in jail and your spare cash’ll be pissed away for bail money. And if you don’t think I’m serious, you ask anyone I’ve ever worked with how determined I can be.”

The pimp snarled and spat a chunk of brown saliva on the ground. Mr. Peepers was trying to save face.

“Perhaps I could work it into my busy schedule.”

“Perhaps you could work it in right now.”

“Find anything in the crap we picked up from Pode’s studio?” Marge asked Decker.

He looked up from his desk, took a sip of lukewarm black coffee, and shook his head.

“No such luck. The films left behind were legit, the junk papers were random numbers or meaningless scribbles. Nothing illuminating or incriminating.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“How’d the interviews go this morning, Margie?”

“I must have hit every dirty bookstore and porn studio in Hollywood. A few had heard of Cecil Pode, but none admitted doing business with him.”

“If you believe that, you’ll believe anything.”

“My sentiments exactly,” she agreed. “But you can only roust so much before the ACLU gets on your ass.”

“How about Dustin Pode? Anything new on him?”

“Far as I know, Joe Broker’s clean as a whistle,” she said. “When’s your appointment with him and Cameron—and the inimitable Jack Cohen?”

“Three. Drinks at the Century Plaza.” Decker rubbed his eyes. “Did you find out anything about the Blade?”

“The name sounded familiar to a few of ’em. Nothing beyond that. What about Clementine?”

“He’s giving a composite of the Blade to Henderson right now. I hope to have a face to match the name in a few minutes.”

“Good,” she nodded. “You know, I tried to call you yesterday. Now that you’re eating like a normal person, I wanted to invite you over to a Sunday barbecue at Carroll’s, but you weren’t home.”

“What the hell was I doing yesterday?” He wrinkled his forehead. “Oh yeah, I took Rina’s kids out on the horses.”

She gave him a funny look.

“You’re back together again?”

“No, I don’t think we’ve said a dozen words to each other. She’s called here twice, but I keep putting off calling her back. But why take it out on the kids, we’d arranged this outing weeks ago.”

“You break up with the woman, but keep the kids?” She shook her head in amazement. “You’re a sucker, Decker.”

He shrugged. “What can I tell you? There’s an attachment.”

His phone rang. He picked up the receiver, listened while jotting down notes, thanked the party on the other end, and hung up.

“That was Colin MacGruder of the Culver City PD bomb squad.”

“And?”