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Los Angeles. I was tailing a suspect.”
    Louie let go the death grip he had on my arm.
    “Stand up.”
    “O.k.”
    “Now, slowly reach for your wallet and take out your driver’s license.”
    “O.k.”
    I handed him a little slip of paper, folded up.
    “What the hell is this?” he asked.
    The cop handed it back to me.
    “Unfold it, then hand it back.”
    I did that, said, “It’s a kind of temporary license. They took my old one when I failed my driver’s license test, the written one. This lets me drive until I take my next test in a week.”
    “You mean, you flunked your test?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Hey, Bill, this guy flunked his driver’s test!”
    “What? Really?”
    “I had things on my mind…”
    “Looks like you had nothing on your mind,” Louie smirked.
    “It’s for laughs,” said Bill.
    “And you mean you’re a licensed detective?” asked Louie.
    “Yep.”
    “Hard to believe.”
    “I was hot after a suspect when you flashed your lights. I was just about to nail her ass.”
    I handed Louie the photo.
    “Holy shit!” he said. He kept staring at the photo. It was a full length shot. She was in a mini-skirt and a low cut blouse, very low cut.
    “Hey, Bill, look at this!”
    “I was hot on her tail, Bill, I was just about to nail her ass.”
    Bill kept staring at the photo.
    “Uhhh uhhh uhhh,” he went.
    “I need the photo back, officer. Personal evidence.”
    “Oh yeah, sure,” he said, reluctantly handing it back.
    “Well, we ought to bust you,” said Louie.
    “But we won’t,” said Bill, “we’ll write you up for doing 75 even though you were doing 80. But we get to keep the photo.”
    “What?”
    “You heard.”
    “But that’s extortion!” I said.
    Bill moved his hand toward his gun.
    “What did you say?”
    “I said, it’s a deal.”
    I handed the photo back to Bill. He began writing out the speeding ticket. I stood there waiting. Then he handed me the ticket.
    “Sign it.”
    I did.
    He ripped it off and handed it to me.
    “You’ve got ten days to pay or if you plead not guilty to appear in court as indicated.”
    “Thank you, officer.”
    “And drive with care,” said Louie.
    “You too, buddy.”
    “What?”
    “I said, sure.”
    They strolled back toward their car. I strolled toward mine. I got in, started the engine. They were just sitting back there. I pulled into traffic, then kept it at 60.
    Cindy, I thought, you’re really going to pay now! I’m going to nail your ass like it has never been nailed!
    Then I got to the Harbor Freeway turnoff, took 110 south and just drove along, hardly knowing where I was going.

12
    I rode the Harbor Freeway to the end. I was in San Pedro. I drove down Gaffey, took a left on 7th, went a few blocks, took a right on Pacific, just drove along, saw a bar, The Thirst Hog, parked, went on in. It was dark in there. The tv was off. The bartender was an old guy, looked to be 80, all white, white hair, white skin, white lips.
    Two other old guys sat there, chalk white. Looked like the blood had stopped running in all of them. They reminded me of flies in a spider web, sucked dry. No drinks were showing. Everybody was motionless. A white stillness.
    I stood in the doorway looking at them.
    Finally the bartender made a sound: “Etch…?”
    “Has anybody here seen Cindy, Celine or the Red Sparrow?” I asked.
    They just looked at me. One of the patrons’ mouths drew together into a little wet hole. He was trying to speak. He couldn’t do it. The other patron reached down and scratched his balls. Or where his balls used to be. The bartender remained motionless. He looked like a cardboard cutout. An old one. Suddenly I felt young.
    I moved forward and took a bar stool.
    “Any chance of getting a drink here?” I asked.
    “Etch…” said the bartender.
    “Vodka 7, forget the lime.”
    Now just kick four-and-one-half minutes in the ass and forget it.
    That’s how long it took the bartender to get it to me.
    “Thank you,” I