“And you would’ve come, right?” He had already told Abe why he was at the barge, about his telephone arrangement with Rusty.

Abe chewed some more. “Probably not.”

“No probably about it.”

Glitsky reached over and grabbed Hardy’s drink. “You mind?” He sipped through the straw. “Louis Baker, huh?”

Hardy grabbed the cup back. “Louis Baker scares me, Abe. No kidding.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. I think I’d be nervous myself. Baker know where you live? You moved since you were a D.A., right?”

“So did Rusty.”

Glitsky chewed and swallowed. “So how’d he find him?”

“Maybe he’s listed. He’s a working-he was a working attorney.”

“Quit talking about him in the past tense, would you?”

“He’s dead, Abe. You know it and I know it.”

“I don’t know it. Maxine Weir is dead. Otherwise, we’re dragging the canal, checking the blood type on the bed, see if we can match it to Rusty, see if we can find him. I’ll let you know when I think he’s dead.”

“He’s dead,” Hardy said.

Glitsky shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“So what am I gonna do?”

“I don’t know. About what?”

“About Louis fucking Baker, is what.”

“Don’t get all excited, Diz. We finish our lunch here and I locate Louis and drive down and have a talk with him.”

“And what if he’s sitting outside my house, or even in it, with a gun?”

Glitsky said, straight-faced, “That’d be in violation of his parole.” The inspector finished his burger, took Hardy’s cup back and had a last loud slurp of Hardy’s drink through the straw. “Just don’t you do anything, Diz. We frown on private citizens shooting one another.”

“Yeah. Well, I frown on being shot at. I see him around my house, I’m going to shoot first.”

Glitsky leaned across the table. “Do me a favor. Let him get a shot off. Make sure he’s armed.”

“The rules, huh?”

Glitsky nodded. “The rules, that’s right.” He stood up.