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happened?”
    R.J. shook his head. “Go away, Hookshot. Not tonight.”
    Hookshot leaned in toward R.J. “Especially tonight.”
    R J. pulled back and waved his glass at Doreen, but Hookshot waved her off. “Come on, man, what are you gonna do about this?”
    “Go to another bar if they won’t serve me here anymore.”
    “The murder, man.”
    “Let the police do something. That’s what we pay ’em for.”
    Hookshot’s lips curled into a snarl. “You trust them with something this important to you?”
    R.J. glared at his friend, who leaned his gaunt face across the table, growling like a small animal.
    “There’s a killer out there,” Hookshot said deliberately. “A murderer on the loose. Feeling like he got away with one. And it’s your mama. He killed your mama. She’s dead, you’re alive. Time to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Get off your skinny white ass and do something.”
    R.J. straightened his shoulders. The murky film over his eyes faded. Hookshot noticed the response and leaned back slightly.
    “All right. That’s better. Now let’s get outta here. We’ll go to my place and talk. Hook up with Hank, see what he knows. He’s been to see the cops. And he tried to find that TV producer, Casey Wingate, the one been digging up stuff on your mother.”
    But R.J. shook his head. “Not tonight.”
    Hookshot glared at him, then stood up. “Suit yourself,” he said coldly. He took a step toward the door.
    “Hey, Rufus, how you pick your nose with that thing?” It was Rex, the redhot lover in the next booth. Hookshot moved to go around him, but Rex stuck out a leg to stop him. “I hear you coloreds are so talented down there. How you shake yours out when you pee? Got holes in it from that banana hook?”
    The waitress, Doreen, came over and stood between them. Rex snaked an arm around her and grabbed Hookshot by the jacket front. “I asked you a question, Spook.”
    Hookshot looked at him. “Let go my jacket.” It was a black silk jacket. Hookshot loved it and was never without it.
    “Let him go,” Doreen said. Rex looked at her, smiled, and let go of the jacket.
    “Maybe this boy wants to make me,” he said.
    Hookshot shook his head and stepped around them.
    R.J. pushed aside his glass and stood up. He glared at Rex, who was grinning, looking proudly at his “date.” Doreen stayed between R.J. and Rex until R.J. moved away to the bar to pay his tab. Hookshot stood waiting by the exit.
    R.J. walked over to his friend.
    “You go ahead, Hookshot. I’ll catch up with you later.”
    “R.J., man, let it go. I already have. Look, the jacket’s not even wrinkled. Come on with me now.”
    “Go on,” he insisted.
    Hookshot gave him a long look, then sighed and left, shaking his head. R.J. stood at the bar, waiting. Pirate served him a double soda on the rocks, and Doreen caressed his shoulder each time she passed.
    When Sexy Rex finally went to the can, R.J. was right behind him. When R.J. flushed the toilet, Rex’s head was in the bowl and the voice of Lee Greenwood was affirming how great it was to be an American.

CHAPTER 5
    The reflection in the big mirror behind the bar is perfect. A dark-haired, ruddy-faced, middle-aged man in British tweeds is sitting rigidly at the bar, sipping his second brandy and soda in front of the beveled mirror. The same stool. Same one-eyed bartender. Same waitress.
    And they don’t know him.
    His blood churns like river rapids. Belle’s son had been so deflated. It is always thrilling to see their faces afterwards. Hear their voices. The survivors. The ones left behind.
    It is a mystical process, the way he makes his way into their orbits, before and after. He comes and goes in their lives and they never know he is there. Until it is too late.
    But this had been the best, the absolute best. A payoff he had never dared hope for, falling right into his lap. Something so perfect — it was clearly more than coincidence. Had to be. It was meant to be, from the