"Today is my day off. I spent all morning waxing my car. I was gonna cruise Westwood for pussy."

Chen is like that. His sole motivation in all things is publicity, promotion, and sex. Not necessarily in that order.

Starkey said, "That's more than we needed to know, John. Just work the card."

"I'm just saying, that's all. You guys owe me."

He held out his hand, making a little hand-it-over gesture.

"Let me see it."

I was carrying the key card in my handkerchief. I laid it on the bench, then folded back the handkerchief. Chen lifted his glasses, and leaned close to see.

"Did this belong to the vic or the shooter?"

"I don't know. It was in the alley, so I have to follow it. It might not belong to either one of them."

Chen peered closer, looking dubious, then glanced up at me.

"This guy really your father?"

I was getting a headache. I wanted whatever I could get from the key card and I wanted to get out of there.

"He was a deluded old man who thought he was my father. That's all."

"Starkey said he was your father."

Starkey said, "I got it wrong, goddamnit. Cole doesn't look anything like him. I saw the pictures."

I said, "Are you going to look at the card or not?"

I was sorry I called them.

Chen brought the card to a workstation that looked like a Napster geek's dream: A desktop computer was wired to what appeared to be VHS, VHS-C, BETA, 3/4", 8mm, and digital tape decks, along with DVD/CD players, mini-CD players, and several different swipe-card readers that might have come from your local supermarket. A sign on the wall read NO MAGNETS, NO INFO, NO JOB. Lab rat humor.

Chen went to work on the computer, bringing up different windows on the screen.

"Most of the work we do here is with counterfeit credit and ATM cards, but we can analyze commercial key cards, too. Most hotels in the U. S. buy their systems from one of three magnetic-lock companies, and they all use the same coding. We'll try the commercial codes first. Who's the detective in charge?"

"Kelly Diaz. She's Divisional Homicide at Central."

Chen typed in her name.

"I'll have to call her for the case number. Does she put out?"

Starkey punched him in the back, told us she had to get back to work, then stalked out of the lab.

I said, "Jesus, John, show a little class."

Chen seemed disappointed with my answer, but not embarrassed that he had asked. He glanced after Starkey and lowered his voice still more.

"You owe me for this, man. Tell your girlfriend she owes me, too."

"Starkey isn't my girlfriend."

Chen rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, sure."