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“Lorenzo,” Porky warned him.
“We got a dozen witnesses, fuckbag, so just drop that shit right there.”
“That’s enough, Lorenzo.”
“That fucking bartender said you were—”
“¡Cállate!” barked out Porky, and this time he meant it. Lorenzo looked at him with surprise.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Lorenzo said, looking hurt.
“You already have,” Porky told him.
And he had. I knew why I was here.
The only bartender I had seen in the last few weeks was the one at The O. So he had called in and told them to come get me. They had come pretty fast, and that told me that Arthur Nagle was dead. And the fact that it was the bartender that dropped the dime on me told me one other thing, too: I knew who Arthur Nagle was.
Bud.
Bud was dead.
It was a damned good excuse for not showing up to meet me.
“Do you have an alias for Nagle?” I asked Porky.
He glanced down at the file in front of him. “His friends called him Bud,” Porky admitted.
“Okay,” I said. “I knew him.”
“No shit,” Lorenzo snarled.
“Some shit,” I said. “Most if it coming from you.”
Lorenzo stood up again. He thought he was going to come down and swing at me, but Porky held up a hand. “Siéntense, for Christ’s sake,” he said. “You got it coming.” Lorenzo sat down and Porky swung his busted snout back to me. “What was the nature of your association with Nagle?”
“I met him in the bar, The O,” I said. “We talked, had a few drinks.”
“And when was the last time you saw him?”
“Two nights ago, in The O. That was also the first time I saw him.”
Porky and Lorenzo exchanged a look, then Porky came back to me. “So you meet the guy in a bar, never seen him before, and just start talking, is that it?”
“Yeah. It happens.”
“And what did you talk about?”
“He said he was going to go look for a friend of his.”
“Did his friend have a name?”
“I don’t know the last name. First name was Otoniel, called Oto.”
Lorenzo was on his feet again. “You son of a bitch—!” he yelled at me.
“Lorenzo!” Porky yelled.
“The son of a bitch did them both! He’s fucking with us!”
