I did, but switched instantly to staring at the tabletop. Its wood looked oily and warm and handled: oily from a century’s worth of touch in this cantina.

Raymond said, “It’s going to be a leetle trickier than what you mighta thought.”

Nodding, I must’ve appeared so heartsick and tired that Raymond did another smile.

I took off the glasses. I said, “You’re either the guy who worked with Raf in Baltimore, or you were on the tramp steamer, or you could be the one with the smart dog. . . . I’m sorry, I get his friends confused.”

“So does he,” Raymond said. “I’m smart dog—that one.”

He shook a pack of Camels. “He was with me for almost three weeks.”

“Prevailing on your good will,” I said, and Raymond pointed a cigarette in my direction. “No thank you. I meant Raf.”

“Now that boy rilly prevailed,” Raymond said.

I asked, “Could you quit smiling so much?”

Looking me over, he said, “Umm,” as if he’d got my height, weight, and bra size.

“You’re as tall as I thought you’d be. I never saw Raf with a woman wasn’t one of your stretch jobs.”

“Stretch jobs,” I said, and there was a cry, as if on my behalf, from the street. I couldn’t tell if the shriek was made by a kid or a drunk or from joy or terror.

“I’m not saying like rubber band,” Raymond said. Above him on the white plaster wall, hand-painted purple roses cavorted. They seemed friends, these flowers, as in a cartoon.

“How many women have you seen Raf with?” I asked.

“Umm. However many there are. You’re the only one I know of he’s married. How long’s that been?”

“Five and something years,” I said. “So. He crashed your car, drank your liquor, ate your food.” Raymond was nodding yes, yes. “Jumped your wife? Borrowed money? Cooked your parakeet?”

“Some of those. Yep. Yes, ma’am.”

The Cielito Lindo’s matchpack was soggy from the tabletop or from just the day, but Raymond got his cigarette lighted and sighed smoke and appeared to relax. He ordered another Chihuahua for me, an iced tea for himself. He ordered by yelling at the boy behind the bar.

“I’m sorry for all he did, Raymond. I wish you had him tied up out in your car, or someplace under guard. I need to find him, fast like.”

Raymond winced and drove a hand through his hair, which was actually golden, thatchy and thick.

“There are several likely places to look for Raf, though if he’s not in them, any of ’em, you’re fucked.”

“Because that means he’s left town?”

“Yeah, and ’cause, you know, he’s not too good on forwarding addresses.”