I thought about asking Decker what his game plan was. We couldn’t very well start by ringing doorbells. He suggested we take a walk and shake out our legs. While we ambled down the wrong side of the tracks, we poked around exterior mailboxes, read labels on newspaper deliveries, and scanned the directories of apartment buildings. Nothing came close to Renaldes. After an hour of fruitless effort, I told Dad that this was ridiculous.

“Patience.” He rubbed his hands together. “Let’s just hang for a while.”

“Dad, we don’t even know if we’re on the right block.”

“I think we’re close.”

“You’re in denial.” It was six-thirty and I was sleep deprived. Thinking had become hard work. “You know, construction crews start pretty early.”

My father looked at me.

I said, “In my area, we get loads of Hispanic guys waiting on street corners or by paint stores, hoping to be picked up by the boss man.”

“I thought you said this guy had a steady job.”

“I said Renaldes had listed Do-Rite Construction as his current employer. I don’t know how long ago he might have worked for the company. Or even if he worked for the company at all. I never got a chance to check it out, because my superiors in title told me to back off. But now I’m thinking that if Renaldes listed Do-Rite as his employer, he probably worked construction with other companies, too.”

Decker didn’t answer me.

“Why don’t we drive around—”

“I wanted to get this guy while he was sleeping.”

“Daddy, we don’t know where he lives!” My father could be incredibly thickheaded sometimes. “I think it would be a better use of our time if we found some crews and asked about Renaldes. You’d have no trouble convincing anyone that you’re a West Side contractor looking for hands. You’re fluent in Spanish and you’re driving a flashy car.”

“Contractors drive Porsches?”

“The ones who work in Brentwood certainly do.”

“I thought they drove trucks.”

“Both.”

“I’m in the wrong business.”

“Didn’t Mom try to tell you that a long time ago?”

Decker flashed me a sour look.

“Contractors and real estate agents: They drive Porsches, Mercedes, Beemers, Jags. … It’s all part of the image. Can we talk about my idea now?”

“Coming in, I didn’t see any work crews.”

“We didn’t look for any crews. Besides, it’s later now. Let’s go hit the lumberyards or the paint stores and see if we can’t get something going.”

My father tapped his toe, unwilling to comment.

“It’s a good idea, Decker,” I told him. “Much better than anything you have. You know, Daddy, I’m the one who was shot at and was yanked off active duty. Plus, I haven’t slept in over twenty hours. If you don’t start pulling your weight, I’m going home.”

My father slipped his hands into his pockets. “Point well taken.”

“Thank you. So do we go or what?”

Decker took out his keys. “I guess we go.”