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nothin’. But . . .”
    “But what?”
    “I’m not finished here. Give me some room. That biker. One with Raul. You got a better description than you gave me?”
    “I’ve never seen him. I gave you the description Leonard gave me.”
    “That description included him being alive and having a head, didn’t it?”
    “Say what?”
    “Last night, out on Old Pine Road. Couple of motorists, alias two kids parked by the side of the road doin’ the hole-punch boogie, found a biker. His Harley had slammed into a tree, but that wasn’t what did him in. What set him back was a shotgun blast to the head. They’re gonna be pickin’ up teeth and head fragments for a few days to come. They might even find a jawbone over in Louisiana.”
    “Damn.”
    “Leonard owns a shotgun.”
    “Now wait just a goddamn minute, Charlie. You know Leonard.”
    “Yeah. That’s why I’m worried. Listen here, Hap. Leonard, he’s a little hot-tempered. You can’t deny that.”
    “He’s not that hot-tempered.”
    “Yeah, he is. Especially lately. What about this stuff with Raul and Raul’s boyfriend, who, I might note, is a biker? Am I right?”
    “Yeah. But . . .”
    “And you know why Leonard lost his job at the Hot Cat Club?”
    “He pissed on a guy’s head.”
    “That’s excessive even for Leonard.”
    “He was making a point.”
    “Uh-huh. What you said about Leonard sayin’ he was going to kick that kid’s ass. Remember that?”
    “I don’t think he really meant it. Not really.”
    “That shows some temper, don’t it? And you haven’t heard a word from him. Any of that seem right to you, partner? And this biker, it was a twelve-gauge made him the headless horseman. And like I said, Leonard owns a twelve-gauge pump.”
    “So does every other Texan. Leonard also owns rifles, handguns, a collection of silverware, and a TV set. Hell, so do I. So do you.”
    “I haven’t pissed on anyone’s head, nor have I threatened to kick a kid’s ass.”
    “Ah-hah! But you sympathized.”
    “I was kidding.”
    “So was Leonard.”
    “You weren’t so sure.”
    “You don’t even know it’s the same biker.”
    “True. But after I went by Leonard’s, didn’t find him, heard about this biker, I went back and looked in Leonard’s closet. Twelve-gauge wasn’t there. You and I both know that twelve-gauge isn’t one he takes out much. Got it from his uncle, who got it from his father, or some such thing. Uncle gave it to Leonard when he was a kid. You’ve heard him talk about it. It’s an heirloom. It goes so far back it isn’t registered. Guy’s going to do something like kill a lover or a lover’s boyfriend, he might want to do it with a weapon that’s special to him.”
    “I thought you were Leonard’s friend.”
    “I am, Hap. That’s why I’m worried.”
    “I can’t believe you came to me with this bullshit. Leonard didn’t kill anybody. Not like that, anyway. Hell, you know that.”
    “There’s more. Last night, biker bar on the outside of town. The Blazing Wheel. Heard of it? Only biker bar we got. Well, some black dude with a bad attitude went in there and whupped the shit out of a biker with a broom handle. It was one serious ass whuppin’. And when the other bikers started to light down on this black dude, he knocked a couple knots on their heads and pulled a pistol. Then, when they followed him out to the car, he jerked a twelve-gauge off his car seat and pointed it at them. Shot the neon out of the Blazing Wheel sign and shot up some bikes. It looked like a fuckin’ demolition derby out there. This biker, one got the dog shit beat out of him — guess what?”
    “It’s the dead guy?”
    “Guess what else?”
    “What?”
    “This black guy did the damage, he was driving a Rambler. How many guys you know got the acorns to go in a biker bar like that and start trouble, carry a gun? How many black guys you know drive an old Rambler? How many whites you know drive a Rambler? Who the fuck do you