Anything.

He scanned Terrell and the hooker, who had to be a minor. This month the pimp was into coarse, oversized, insipid plaid shirts over black T-shirts, abbreviated cornrows above shaved temples. Last month had been black leather; before that, African prince.

The cop's stare bothered Terrell. Hoping it was someone else under scrutiny, he looked across the aisle at the three transsexuals giggling and whispering and making a big deal out of eating french fries.

He eased back to the cop.

The cop was smiling at him. A weird smile- almost sad. What did that mean?

Terrell returned to his burger, feeling a little out of balance.

The Ethiopian waitress brought Nolan's order and watched as he tasted a forkful of pie.

“Good,” he said, though the coconut tasted like bad piÑa-colada mix and the cream was gluey. He was a practiced culinary liar. As a kid, when his mother had served swill he'd said, “Delish,” along with Helena and Dad.

“Anything else, Officer Dahl?”

“Not for now, thanks.” Nothing you've got.

“Okay, just let me know.”

Nolan smiled again and she left.

Terrell Cochrane thought, That smile- one happy fucker. No reason for a cop to be happy 'ceptin' he busted some rodney with no video going.

Nolan ate more pie and again aimed his smile at Terrell. Then he shrugged.

The pimp looked sideways at Germadine, by now nodding half-comatose into her Coke. Few minutes more, bitch, then back outside for more gravel-knee.

The cop ate the rest of the pie, finished his coffee and his water, and the waitress was there right away with refills.

Bitch. After bringing Terrell's and Germadine's food, she'd mostly ignored them.

Terrell lifted his burger and watched her say something to the cop. The cop just kept smiling and shaking his head. The bitch gave the cop his check and the cop gave her money and she turned all grinny.