“And I’m not going to,” I said, starting to feel annoyed. “The bartender sure is attentive. When did you stop being a regular? Why didn’t you ever bring me here before?”

“Does Jackal know Ellen’s name?”

“Yes, he knows her name.”

Lou leaned back in her chair, staring slightly above my head. The bartender reached in front of me, set down another drink. His T-shirt bunched up, and I could see the tattoo on his biceps, the white flesh pebbled like an uncooked chicken. He was looking straight at Lou. Staring at her, in fact.

“Thank you, that’s enough,” I snapped at him. He straightened and left.

Lou cleared her throat. “It’ll be on the news. He’ll want to know what happened. And,” she said, looking me over, “you’re half in the bag already.” She drew her phone from her purse, punching a few buttons with her thumb. When Jackal answered, she told him the address and hung up. Seeing my face she added, “You know it’s better if we tell him a handful of details. Get ahead of it. That way he won’t be guessing.”

“Sure,” I said, not liking the idea of all of us together in a bar, socializing. One cozy murderous family.

After that, it all went quickly. What to tell the police if and when they came to the office. If anyone asked, Lou had never met Ellen, never seen her even once. That part I’d insisted on. I’d watched Lou’s face as I’d said it, watched the way she opened her mouth and then shut it before nodding.

I was nursing the last of my third whiskey. It was a nice bar, even if it was the color of silt. Lou had excused herself to go to the bathroom, and in my alone time something else occurred to me, something that seemed more urgent even than the police. When Lou came back with splotches of wet on the front of her dress that could’ve been water or tears, I cornered her.

“Will you tell the tattooed bitch about our”—I pulled one hand away from my glass so I could make air quotes—“little problem?”

Lou froze, half crouched above the chair. “What?”

“That tacky, ugly blue.” I reunited with my drink and tickled the ice with my teeth. It had been a long thirty seconds apart for us both. “Woman with the blue tattoo, a.k.a. the Lady Upstairs, a.k.a. the boss you refuse to tell me anything about. Your hero.”

Lou frowned and leaned forward. “Blue tattoo? What are you talking about?”

“Might’ve told you, but you were probably busy with Alibi. Good old Alibi. Trusty old Alibi. I met her. In the office. What, you think I don’t have secrets, too?”