Boykins’s mouth dropped open. His smile was cold. “Look at this, a cop with culture.”
“The suites are among my favorites, too.” When I didn’t mind feeling clumsy, I tried playing them on the guitar.
“Didn’t say they were myfavorites,” Boykins snapped. “Don’t try to—don’t know why I’m eventoleratingyou.”
Milo said, “Again, sir, sorry for the interruption.”
Boykins waved dismissively.
Milo pulled out an enlargement of Paul O’Brien’s DMV photo.
Gerald Boykins said, “What about him?”
“You know him?”
“I know the face because I’m great with faces. He did some security work for me. Don’t remember his name, just his face. Probably never knew his name. Why are you showing that to me?”
He fooled with an earbud.
Milo said, “He got murdered.”
No movement from Boykins. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“We’re collecting data from past employers—”
“How the hell did that lead you to me?”
Milo said, “Sorry, can’t get into that.”
“Of course you can’t,” said Boykins, turning to face us. “You march in here and go all gestapo on me while I’m chilling but you can’t tell me a fu—a thing about why. Great country we live in.”
“Sir, we’re just looking for information on Mr. O’Brien.”
“O’Brien…Irish, huh? No idea about him or his tribe or anything else except he did some door work for me, lots of people work for me. Used to. When I worked. Now can you leave?”
“Just a few more questions, please? When was Mr. O’Brien in your employ?”
“He wasn’t in my employ,” said Boykins. “We hire freelancers by the job. Hired. Past tense.”
“Hire them for—”
“Events.”
“So no idea when Mr. O’Brien was hired.”
“Now I’m a calendar?”
“When’s the last time you ran an event?”
“Not for…a year and a half. But if you’re asking me when he did door work, no idea. Could be then, two, three. I just remember his face because that’s how my mind works. With faces I’m a camera. Faces and numbers, that’s my thing. My daughter’s gifted with numbers. She loves ’em, going to go places.”
Suddenly he winced and shot a hand to his right temple.
“You okay, sir?”
“No, I’m not okay, do I look fu—okay? Got the headache. You gave me the headache. Could be just muscle tension. Or the systolic—the blood pressure’s rising. Either way, you’re messing me up.”
We stood there.
