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again?”
    “Not until Monday. He wasn’t gonna call me unless something broke on Angela, the Golden girl. I told Ricky he could work some weekend hours if he wanted—do an inspection, take some photos, ask around about the girl—and I’d pay him for it. But I don’t do Saturday and Sunday unless I absolutely have to.”
    “And he told you he needed money, right?”
    “Fuck, Ray. Who doesn’t need money?”
    “But more now. You said he didn’t bring it up until recently.”
    “Yeah, I guess that’s right.”
    I took another sip of coffee and started in on my second kielbasa and egg. I think more clearly when I’m well fed. Rachel got up and came back with the coffeepot. She refilled all three of our cups and returned to the kitchen.
    “Why so pensive, Ray?” Jack said, surprising me with the word choice.
    “That’s a good place for the cops to start.”
    “What is?”
    “What was going on in Ricky’s life that made him need more money?”
    Jack shrugged. “He probably just wanted to get the hell out of his mom’s crib, man. Guy’s in his thirties, spent the better part of the last three years overseas. Living with your mom’s only cool for so long, y’know?”
    “You’re probably right.”
    Jack studied my face as he took a sip of coffee. “But…”
    “But,” I said, “I don’t like the timing. Ricky tells you he needs more cash, and within a couple of days, he’s killed. Guy does two tours in the sandbox and this is how he ends up? It doesn’t feel right.”
    Jack shook his head and laughed.
    “I say something funny?”
    “That’s the rookie that used to crack us up in the locker room.”
    I hated when Jack called me that, but did my best not to let it show.
    “Your whole feelings thing. Sometimes shit just happens, Ray. It’s not a matter of fair or unfair. Lotta times it’s being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe Ricky’s dead ’cause someone hates cab drivers, or ex-cops, or Marines just back from fucking Mullah Mullah land. Maybe some wannabe gangbanger was busting his cherry. Who the fuck knows? All that matters is Ricky’s dead.”
    “You telling me you don’t care why?”
    “Not as much as I care about the who . I’ll tell ya something else, Ray,” he leaned forward to put his cup down, “I find out who did this before the cops…”
    I held up my hand. “You sure you wanna say this out loud, Jack?”
    “The fuck’s it matter I say it out loud? It’s just you and me, right?”
    Rachel took that cue to return to the living room.
    “There’s me, too,” she said.
    “Don’t you have dishes to do or something?” Jack asked.
    “Give it a rest, Jack,” said Rachel. “We know what you’re thinking. We’ve all seen The Maltese Falcon . Man’s partner gets killed, he oughta do something about it, right?”
    “Jack,” I said, “my uncle’s going to be here later. He’s arranged it so he’s going to take my statement. I’m going to tell him everything I know, which is not all that much, but I’m gonna have to tell him Ricky was working with you. There’s gonna be a whole lot of police on this, Jack. And that’s not us, anymore.”
    Jack considered that, picked what remained of his sandwich off the plate, and finished it in two bites. When he was done, he wiped his mouth, rolled up the napkin, and tossed it on the table. He slowly stood up and didn’t speak until he got his breathing under control. Just when he was about to say something, his phone rang. He looked at the screen, gave it a puzzled look, and said, “I gotta take this.” He motioned to my back deck. “You mind?”
    “It’s all yours.” Jack went out to the deck, careful to close the sliding door behind him. Rachel gave me a look. “He’s a busy guy,” I said, watching Jack through the window.
    “I can see why. He is one smooth operator.”
    “He’s not all bad, Rache. Apparently, there’re a lot of people willing to pay money for his skills and type of