“Huh.”
“So what’s its name?” Tucker asked.
“Can’t say.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Won’t. The tenderizing marinade is taking longer than I thought.”
“That’s cute, Mitch, but this is serious shit. Your meddling could screw the pooch for us—us being the agency and me—in an already combustible week.”
“Why combustible?”
“Meddling could also get you killed.”
“Why combustible?”
“Or both.”
Mitch relented. Tucker had told him all he was going to about the combustibility of this week. “At least get me some intel on El Paso, please.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“I’m being careful, Jim.”
He gave a bitter laugh. “And I’m farting Chanel Number Five.” With that, he disconnected.
Mitch sat on the bed for a time, reviewing what he’d been told and thinking over what he should do with it. Reaching a decision, he called Auclair PD dispatch. When the duty officer answered, he identified himself.
“Hey, Mitch. Couldn’t tell it was you. ID says caller unknown.”
“My cell’s out of juice. I’m using a spare.”
“I thought it might be a whack job calling in.”
“Well, some in the department would think so.”
“I didn’t mean nothing by that,” the officer said quickly. “I wasn’t referring to you having to see the shrink and all.”
“No offense taken. Is Clarence on patrol tonight?”
“Let’s see.” After a moment, “No, he’s got the morning shift. Goes on at seven.”
Mitch checked his watch. It was two-forty. “Well, he owes me a favor. Do you have his cell number handy?”
When he went back into the main room, Dylan was pacing, eyes to the floor, tapping her fist against her chin. Immediately she stopped and turned to him looking inquisitive and anxious. “Who was that?”
“Tell me about El Paso.”
She gazed at him blankly. “The city?”
“The person.”
She bowed her head and pressed her temples with the heels of her hands. “Mitch, I can’t keep up. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He didn’t think her bafflement was faked. But there was too much at stake not to persist. “You created a buzz at the restaurant tonight.”
She scoffed. “Hardly.”
