I reached across ALIAS and into my dash for a pack of Bazooka.

I offered him a piece.

“What’s that shit?”

“Gum. You chew it. Brings enjoyment.”

“Man, that shit looks old as hell.”

“I will have you know that Bazooka is the finest damned gum ever known to man. All other bubble gum tastes like rubber paste. And they have comics inside. Brilliant.”

He looked at me and flashed a gold grin.

“What did he look like?” I asked.

“Kind of bald but kept his hair real tight. Like shaved so no one would notice. White.”

“You said that.”

“Well, he kind of dark for a white dude. Nose kind of big.”

“I’d ask how he dressed but it doesn’t matter,” I said. “Anything different about him? Moles? A tattoo?”

“Naw, man. He did have this weird shit about his ears,” he said, and rubbed the cartilage in his ears. “Like he got shit stuck up in it.”

“You mean like cauliflower ear?”

“Yeah, sumshit like that.”

We stopped at this three-story tan brick building on the Circle and got out. Most of the windows were open and we could hear a construction crew with their drills and hammers blaring Tejano music from small radios while they worked. We walked right into the first floor. It was gutted and open with exposed metal support beams. Even with the air flushing through the open space, it smelled of hot wood and oil from their tools and lifts.

No one was on the floor.

“Where were they?” I asked.

“Second floor.”

Upstairs, we found the office. Two Mexican workers were inside cleaning up a mess left by Sheetrock hangers. They swept the floor in their hard hats, T-shirts bulging with cigarette packs. They didn’t even look up at us as we walked over the stained plywood floor. I watched ALIAS taking it all in.

“Tell me what you remember.”

“They had a secretary. Every time I come in, she’d make me sit there awhile and read magazines till Mr. Thompson was ready.”