Doug taps my arm then points to the far wall and a line of booths facing out toward the main stage.

“The buffet is back there,” he says. “It might be quieter.”

I follow him through the maze of tables toward a booth at the back of the room. A waitress comes by and asks us what we want.

“Beer,” I say. “In a bottle.”

“Me, too,” Doug says. “A glass is fine.”

Once she’s gone, Doug leans into the seat and says, “It’s a clean place, Jake. You can get a glass.”

“I don’t think I’ll take the chance.”

Doug shakes his head.

I glance up toward the line of dancers on stage.

It’s a hell of a sight.

None of the girls look younger than thirty, not even close. What I see is a showcase of caesarian scars and stretch marks, bruises so deep even the red and purple stage lights can’t hide them.

I stare at them for a while, then turn away.

“So, what’s going on?” Doug asks. “What’s the story with this detective?”

I’m not sure where to begin, so I start by telling him about the jar and my finger. Doug listens and doesn’t interrupt.

When I finish, he says, “Jesus, Jake.”

“This detective is worthless. He thinks I’m involved because of the trouble I got in as a kid.”

“The fights?”

“He doesn’t have anything else to go on. Meanwhile, I’m watching Diane slip away, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“That’s bullshit. She loves you.”

“That might not be enough.”

“Is that why she’s in Phoenix?”

“She said she had to go for business, but there’s more to it.” I lean forward and tap one finger on the table. “The thing is, I could end this today. One phone call to Gabby and it’s over, all of it.”