– The guy’s a cop.

David swings his legs over the side of the bed, stands and walks to the window. He looks down at the police cars.

– This matters?

– What if he hadn’t bit on the coke? What if he busted me instead?

He glances at me, looks back out the window.

– You would let that happen?

– It might have happened.

He faces me.

– And this is what it is that bothers you about this job? That you might have been arrested?

I look back out the window. I can see a blue uniform walking across the parking lot toward the Jackalope.

– You broke his hands?

I swallow.

– Yeah.

– You did it? Not Branko?

– Yeah, I did it.

– And yet you try to tell me you are bothered now because this man is a cop.

He hoists his glass slightly, sighting his eyes at mine over the rim. Do we not know each other better than this by now?

He sips his drink.

– This man, this cop. Do you know what he has done to make me so angry? So angry that I would have his hands broken?

– No.

– He is a cop that I pay. Every month he is paid money. It is a good arrangement. It is especially good for this cop because he is a man who knows that I can do him more harm than he can do to me. But still, still he abuses this arrangement. He takes more than is his fair share. He takes drugs from my dealers. He takes extra protection from my whores. He is especially greedy with the whores. Two nights past, the same evening after he has been paid what he is due for this month, that very night he shows up at the apartment of one of my whores. He wants money, yes, but he wants also to fuck. Well.