Death Notes

and his full lips.
    I smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back. Instead, she rose halfway out of her folding chair, fear in her eyes. For a minute, I thought she might bolt through the door behind her, but she held her ground.
    ‘What do you want?’
    ‘Hi, Yvette. Nice place.’
    ‘Why are you here?’
    ‘I want to know why you’re telling people I know who killed your father.’
    ‘Because it’s true.’
    She didn’t even sound like she believed it herself.
    ‘You know it isn’t. Who put you up to it?’
    She tossed her head defiantly but that wasn’t very convincing, either. She was too young to be doing what she was doing. Somehow, she looked like a cornered rabbit - a very pretty cornered rabbit.
    ‘I don’t have to talk to you,’ she said.
    ‘You’re right. You can talk to the police instead. You can explain to them why you’re spreading false information about a homicide.’
    ‘Why are you threatening me? I don’t know anything.’
    The door behind her sprang open and we both jumped. A young captain of industry stepped out - blue suit, tie and briefcase. Techno music blared from inside, then stopped suddenly as the door shut behind him. Soundproof. Our eyes met, then he ducked his head and made for the door. I’d seen guys look less guilty coming out of a bank they’d just robbed. I stepped aside to let him pass and got a whiff of soap and sweat and cigar. He was probably on his way home to the wife and kids across the Bay in Orinda.
    T bet the cops would be really interested in a place like this.’
    ‘They’re not,’ she said, suddenly on solid ground. ‘I’ve got it covered.’
    ‘Maybe Vice. I’m talking Homicide. They’re different.’
    ‘They’re men, aren’t they?’
    I stepped in closer and mustered my meanest glare.
    ‘Let me explain to you why I’m not going to go away: you put a premium on my head the minute you started that rumor. Now you’re going to tell me who put you up to it or I’m going to park myself outside with a video camera and film every customer who walks through your door. And if that doesn’t clear things out, I’ll hand them letters telling them your staff’s got a dozen different kinds of STDs.’
    She looked horrified. ‘That’s illegal.’
    ‘So’s what you’re doing.’
    ‘It was one of his pals.’
    ‘Which one?’
    ‘I didn’t see who it was. I was just standing near them and I heard somebody say my dad had whispered a name before he died.’
    ‘I need more than that.’
    ‘Nick DuPont. Sig Malone. Buddha Teagues. They’re all friends of my dad’s. Clark might have been with them, too -my half-brother. That’s all I know.’
    ‘And you didn’t recognize the voice?’
    She slammed her petite hand down on the cardboard tabletop in a sitting down version of stamping her foot. The ballpoint pen bounced.
    ‘I told you I didn’t! Now will you please leave me alone? I’m still grieving.’
    Another guy popped out from the back, eyed me with suspicion, and scuttled past to the door. He didn’t smell as clean as the other guy had. And he didn’t look as clean, either. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Call me if anything jogs your memory.’
    I tossed my card on the table, then followed the john outside and inhaled a deep breath of clean air.
     

12
     
    B y the time I got out to Malone Junk, it was past dusk. I parked on the street and slipped through a narrow gate in a tall wooden fence that surrounded half the block. There was just enough light left for me to make out the faded hobo drawn above the name MALONE JUNK.
    The neighborhood wasn’t the best. A million years ago it used to be industrial and dotted with tenements. Now it was stark and colorless with boarded-up windows, rundown metalsided warehouses and the sad, ominous feeling of most ghettos.
    A handful of bums were hanging out on the corner - not the usual innocuous homeless, but sinister men, wary and vigilant. Trash was everywhere and I felt at a disadvantage right off because my clothes were clean.
    The dirty little shack just inside the fence had a big, lighted window under a sloppily hand-painted BEWARE OF DOG sign. A lot of people like the idea of a dog for protection but get turned off by the prospect of dog food, vet bills and dog shit, so they just post a sign and pretend. I was hoping Malone was one of them.
    All the same, I looked around for Rover. If he existed, he must have been resting his jaws. Music - soft, easy jazz -filtered out from the open door. It