Dad checked his wallet. “Sixty.”

I turned back to Angus. “I’m going to need some pocket change. I’ll give you eighty bucks. Take it or leave it.”

He didn’t deliberate too long, holding out his hand a moment later.

I gave him the bills. “Where?”

“Not here,” Angus said. “But I know where. You don’t come back here no more, it’ll show up where it’s supposed to show up.”

I turned to the Loo for advice. Decker said, “Either we flex muscle or we believe him. What do you want to do?”

“How long will it take to show up?” I asked Angus. “I really didn’t appreciate being shot at.”

“By the end of the day.”

“Can you put some speed on it?”

“I could if you give me more incentive.”

“I don’t have any more cash.”

“I got an address.”

“How much?” I asked him.

“ ’Nother hundred.”

It would have been worth ten times that much to streamline the investigation. Still, I knew I had to show grit. “Fifty,” I told him. “It’s coming out of my pocket.”

“Big fuckin-A deal. You’ll make it up next time you bust a crack house.”

“I’m not in Vice and I’m not on the take. I repeat: fifty bucks because it’s coming out of my pocket.”

Angus gave the offer some thought. “Seventy-five and I’ll say before three o’clock.”

Again I turned to the Loo. He turned to Angus. “Which police department and precinct are you going to phone?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t thought about it.”

Decker said, “Do Industry PD, the precinct on Twenty-third and Preston.”

“Okay. You got a phone number? I’ll call you when it’s cleared.”

“Not necessary,” Decker said. “Just do your job and we’ll all be happy.”

“Tell me how the car came to your attention?” I asked him.

“Not much to tell, sweetheart. Guy comes in here six-thirty in the morning and tells me he needs to dump a hot mark. All those bullet holes, I’m figuring it was a messy holdup or gang warfare. Either way, I don’t want no part of that shit. I tell him where to go for scrap. That’s it.”

“Who’s the guy?” I asked.

“Don’t know him.”

“You don’t know him?” I tossed him a look. “You gave out the address of a chop shop to a guy you don’t know?”

“He’s the stepbrother of a greaser that used to work for me.”

“Okay,” I said. “What’s the greaser’s name?”

He brushed his tongue over his teeth. “We’re back up to a hundred.”

“Fine,” I said. “What’s his name … the greaser?”

“Germando El Paso.”

My father and I exchanged glances. Decker said, “What’d this guy look like?”

“I dunno. Maybe around five-ten.”

“Hair color, eye color?”

“I don’t pay attention to that kinda crap.”

“Think, Angus,” I told him. “It’s important.”

“Real short hair … stubble. Look, I got work to do, ’specially if you want me to do what you’re asking me to do. So get outta here and let me do it.”