Mikey poked Jack's chest with his stubby index finger. "Hey—if they all look like him... I got no problem."
"Don't sell yourself short, Mikey. I've seen you at least a half-dozen times at B.J.'s, but never this close."
"No wonder. Navigating that place after a certain hour... Forget it. And God help you if you have to pee."
This brought an acknowledging chuckle from Jack, who had only been hearing pieces of the conversation, still scoping for Abir.
"Oh, that reminds me," said Mikey. "Did you get with that guy last Tuesday?"
"What guy? Demarco asked."
"Some guy," said Mikey. "Hot number. He was asking me about you, but I told him we'd never met. He was definitely into you."
"What did he look like?" Jack interjected.
"Whoa, Fido. He was cute... but nowhere near as hot as you."
Jack dismissed the compliment. "Did you happen to get his name? Could you describe him?"
"No name—" said Mikey. He removed his phone from its holster, tapped the screen a few times, and handed it to Jack. "—but he was cute. I took this pic when he wasn't looking." He glanced at Demarco. "Don't judge me."
Demarco laughed. "No judgment here, Mikey. We're grateful."
"I can't make this out in the sun," Jack said. He produced a card from his shirt pocket and handed it to Mikey. "Can you e-mail it to this address?"
Mikey nodded, taking the card between two fingers and rapid-texting the pic in a matter of seconds. "Whoa," he said. "Secret Service. Sounds serious." He drew out the alliterative S's, lisping purposely, and sounding like Sylvester the cat.
Demarco nodded, pointing to the bullet hole in the park bench.
It took a second for the revelation to register, but when it did Mikey's eyes widened with excitement. "Oh, wow! You're the guy from the paper. The hooker that got shot."
"Escort," Demarco corrected.
"Yeah, sorry. That's how the guys at the station talk... not me. I didn't know it was you though... because of the angle in the picture."
"It was me," said Demarco.
"Looked like a movie poster...so romantic. And this was the guy that was carrying you? Fuck... you're hot."
"We have to be going, Mikey," said Jack, holding up his phone to indicate that he had received the e-mail. "But we do appreciate your help."
"Sure," said Mikey, nodding. He gazed at the bullet hole again, his voice going soft and child-like. "Maybe we shouldn't be standing here."
"I think we're OK," said Jack, and Demarco noticed that his tone had changed, more paternal than professional. "We were returning to the scene of the crime, so to speak. And you've given us a great lead. So thanks."
Mikey's smile returned. "No problem. Glad to help. But can I ask you something?" he said to Demarco.
Demarco nodded.
"If you two are together, can I hook up with this guy?" He held up the phone. "Assuming I see him again... and you're not interested."
"Mikey, I can't imagine you'd have trouble hooking up with anyone. But I'd be careful with him," Demarco said, gesturing with a nod toward the bullet hole.
Again, Mikey's eyes widened. "Oh... you think... this guy..." he pointed at his phone. "Wow... OK... I get it."
"We don't know for sure, Mikey," said Jack. "But I'd be careful. And if you see this guy again, or think of anything else relevant... you have my card."
Mikey nodded, but it was clear that this news had thrown him a bit.
