“Aw, man, you know. The police came around looking, so he’s gotta stay low. He didn’t say where he went and I didn’t ask. If I don’t know, I can’t say.”

Pike decided Rahmi was telling the truth, but Jamal was only one of the people he wanted to find.

“When’s the last time you spoke?”

“Few days, I guess. Maybe a week.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Just talkin’ shit. This cop show I’m watching on DVD, The Shield. That shit is righteous, here on the sixty-inch. We talkin’ about The Shield. Jamal say up there in Soledad, they all into The Shield.”

“I think you’re lying. I think he left my money with you, and you spent it.”

Pike aimed the Smith at Rahmi’s left eye. Rahmi held up a hand as if he could ward off the bullet.

“That’s crazy. I don’t know nuthin’ ’bout no money.”

“He tell you I was coming?”

“He ain’t said nuthin’ ’bout no money, you, or anything else. How much he owe you?”

“Thirty-two thousand dollars. I’m getting it from him, or you.”

“I ain’t got no thirty-two kay.”

“You were driving it. Now I’m driving it.”

Rahmi blinked at what was left of his big-screen television, then slumped in defeat.

“Nigga, please, whatever passed between you and Jamal, I got no part in that. Jamal, he gave me these things ’cause he doin’ so well. We family, dog.”

“How’d he get to be doing so well?”

“He got in with a good crew.”

“Who? Maybe I can find him through them.”

“Jamal never told me no names.”

“He never told you I’d come for my money, either. I think he stole it from me. I think this stuff is mine.”

Pike raised the gun again, and this time Rahmi pleaded.

“It’s true, bro. They hooked up with this Serbian cat, lays off one fat score after another. They makin’ the bank!”

Pike lowered the gun.

“Serbian.”

“They in with this dude set’m up with the scores. Tell’m who to hit, they split the cash. He say it the easiest money he ever made.”

“He said Serbian? Not Russian or Armenian?”

“What difference it make? How’s a brother know the difference?”

“What was the name?”

“Just some Serbian muthuhfucka, that’s all.”

Ana Markovic was from Serbia. Dying in the hospital with her sister standing guard.

Pike studied Rahmi, but wasn’t really looking at Rahmi. He thought for a moment, then went to the bag of tacos. He stepped on it. Crunch.

Rahmi looked pained.

“Muthuhfuckin’ dinner, muthuhfucka. Why you do a mean-hearted thing like that?”

Pike picked up Rahmi’s keys, then tossed them to him.

“Get some more tacos.”

“What?”

Pike held up the fold of bills.

“Take your car. Go get more tacos.”