“See?”

Rahmi probably thought Pike was a cop, the white facedown here in Compton.

“What you want, man? I ain’t done nuthin’.” Pike tapped him again.

“Sh.”

Pike muted the television, then went through Rahmi’s pockets. He found a cell phone, a fold of cash, a pack of Parliaments, and a yellow Bic lighter. No wallet. He pulled Rahmi to his feet and pushed him to the couch.

“Sit.”

Rahmi sat, glaring at Pike like a sullen teenager. Rahmi was trying to read him, trying to figure out who Pike was and what was in store. Pike understood he looked like a cop, but he didn’t want Rahmi to think he was a cop.

Pike stuffed Rahmi’s cash into his pocket, and Rahmi jerked forward.

“Yo! That’s my money, muthuhfucka!”

“Not anymore. Jamal owes me cash.”

“You a cop?”

“Where’s Jamal?”

“I don’t know where Jamal is. Shit.”

“Jamal has my money. I’ll get it from him, or from you.”

“I don’t know you, man. I don’t know nuthin’ ’bout no money.”

Rahmi wet his lips, thinking if Pike wasn’t a cop, maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought, but Pike wanted him to think it was worse.

Pike threw the cell phone at him, so hard Rahmi caught it to protect himself.

“Call him.”

“Man, I ain’t seen Jamal since visiting day. He in prison.”

Pike swung the Smith backhand, hitting the sixty-inch plasma dead in the center of the screen. The safety glass split, and multicolored blocks danced and shimmered where the image had been. Rahmi lunged up from the couch, eyes trembling like runny eggs.

Pike aimed the Smith at Rahmi’s forehead and thumbed back the hammer.

“Call.”

“I’ll call. I’ll call all you want, but we ain’t gonna get no answer. I been leavin’ messages. His message box full.”

Rahmi fumbled with the phone, then held it out for Pike to see.

“Here. Listen here. You’ll see. I called him right now.”

Pike held out his free hand, and Rahmi tossed the phone over. Pike caught it to hear a computer voice say the recipient’s message box was full.

Pike ended the connection, then brought up the call log. The last call out showed as Jamal. Pike closed the phone, then put it into his pocket. He would go through the other numbers later.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know where he is. Layin’ up with some ho, I imagine. Maybe in Vegas.”

“He told me he was crashing here. How else would I have your address?”

Now Rahmi appeared confused, as if he thought all this might be possible, but wasn’t sure how.

“Man, that was weeks ago. I don’t know where he cribs now. He don’t tell me, and I don’t wanna know.”

“Why not?”