The bench was a few yards up, on the north side of Temple. Milo was in the left-hand lane and had to turn sharply not to overshoot. He edged to the curb, looked around to see what had changed Schwinn’s mind.

Dark, empty block, no one around—no, there was someone. A figure emerging from the shadows. Walking west. Walking quickly.

“A source?” said Milo, as the shape took form. Female form.

Schwinn tightened his tie knot. “Stay put and keep the engine going.” He got out of the car, quickly, got to the sidewalk just in time to meet the woman. Her arrival was heralded by spike heels snapping on the pavement.

A tall woman—black, Milo saw, as she shifted into the streetlight. Tall and busty. Maybe forty. Wearing a blue leather mini and a baby blue halter top. Jumbo pile of henna-colored waves atop her head, what looked to be ten pounds of hair.

Schwinn, standing facing her, looking even skinnier than usual. Legs slightly spread. Smiling.

The woman smiled back. Offered both cheeks to Schwinn. One of those Italian movie greetings.

A few moments of conversation, too low for Milo to make out, then both of them got in the backseat of the unmarked.

“This is Tonya,” said Schwinn. “She’s a good pal of the department. Tonya, meet my brand-new partner, Milo. He’s got a master’s degree.”

“Ooh,” said Tonya. “Are you masterful, honey?”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Tonya laughed.

“Start driving,” said Schwinn.

“Master’s degree,” said Tonya, as they pulled away.

At Fifth Street, Schwinn said, “Turn left. Drive into the alley behind those buildings.”

“Masturbator’s degree?” said Tonya.

“Speaking of which,” said Schwinn. “My darling dear.”

“Ooh, I love when you talk that way, Mr. S.”

Milo reduced his speed.

Schwinn said, “Don’t do that, just drive regular—turn again and make a right—go east. Alameda, where the factories are.”

“Industrial revolution,” said Tonya, and Milo heard something else: the rustle of clothing, the sprick of a zipper undone. He hazarded one look in the rearview, saw Schwinn’s head, resting against the back of the seat. Eyes closed. Peaceful smile. Ten pounds of henna bobbing.

A moment later: “Oh, yes, Miss T. I missed you, did you know that?”

“Did you, baby? Aw, you’re just saying that.”

“Oh, no, it’s true.”

“Is it, baby?”

“You bet. Miss me, too?”

“You know I do, Mr. S.”

“Every day, Miss T?”

“Every day, Mr. S.—c’mon, baby, move a little, help me with this.”

“Happy to help,” said Schwinn. “Protect and serve.”

Milo forced his eyes straight ahead.

No sound in the car but heavy breathing.

“Yeah, yeah,” Schwinn was saying now. His voice weak. Milo thought: This is what it takes to knock off the asshole’s smugness.

“Oh yeah, just like that, my darling . . . dear. Oh, yes, you’re . . . a . . . specialist. A . . . scientist, yes, yes.”

CHAPTER

7