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"Yes. They were running high-octane coke right through the heart of the Seventh. I ended up working with the DEA guys. They had lots of surveillance photos."
"Like these?"
"Exactly like those."
"So, what am I looking at, then? A Colombian drug factory?"
"El Gato Negro, at the intersection of Calle La Perla and Avenida Rio Azul, wasn't a drug factory."
"Conor?"
Conor turned around. Miranda had moved close to where he stood. Her face was pale and puzzled.
"Who are you talking to?"
He tried for a smile and forced his attention away from Miranda and back to the telephone.
"If it wasn't a drug factory, what was it?"
"It was the favorite meeting place for every fat cat who dealt dope in that part of Colombia."
"Why?"
"Because El Gato Negro was the best whorehouse in town."
* * *
"I don't understand why I can't go with you."
Conor slipped into his leather jacket. He and Miranda had been at this for almost twenty minutes, her insisting on going with him, him coming up with what he hoped sounded like logical reasons for her to stay right here. Well, she wasn't going with him, that was for sure, not if he had to lock her inside this damn apartment and throw away the keys.
No matter what Miranda's relationship was with her mother, he wasn't going to have her standing there while he told Eva he knew she'd lied about her place of birth, then shoved a picture of a whorehouse under her nose and asked her what in hell she knew about it.
"Damn you, O'Neil, don't you dare ignore me!" Miranda grabbed his arm and stepped between him and the door. "Why won't you take me with you?"
"Sweetheart..."
"Don't sweetheart me. I want an answer."
"I've given you my answer half a dozen times." He smiled, but she wasn't buying it. Her eyes still flashed defiance. Conor sighed. "Okay, I'll try again. I want to check out a lead."
"About these photos," she said, and he nodded. "I have the right to know why, Conor. They were sent to me."
"I know that."
"And you won't tell me what that call from your father was about."
"Can't a father call a son to say hello?"
"Give me a break, O'Neil. He called to give you some information."
"What if he did? He was a cop, remember? Cops have all kinds of contacts."
"How come you didn't tell me you'd gotten in touch with your father about what's been happening to me?"
"It didn't seem important to tell you, not until I found out if he could pick up some information on Moratelli."
"And he did, but you won't tell me what it is."
