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late night or, more accurately, an early morning sweat down.  Then again, ther e’ s nothing I hate worse than figuring out who put a young gir l’ s body in the alley behind Oma r’ s.
    I shake my head, recalling the visual and trying to imagine the vi c’ s life.  She had it all ahead of her, but not now.  All sh e’ s got now is a slab in the morgu e— and me. 
    “ I got nothing good to say about a man who gets his jollies in titty bars ,” I tell Rookie Laws ,“ but I have to be honest: I do n’ t think h e’ s my perp . ”
    “ Then, why ca n’ t I at least listen in while yo u—? ”
    “ No, I got this one ,” I say, shutting the door to interview room 2.
    “ Long night, officer ?” Theodore asks.
    Before I even sit down, h e’ s cozying up.  I t’ s a common tactic, pre-empting the sweat-down with a swipe at civility.  I do n’ t bother pointing to my badge.  “ A.G. Hawks ,” I want to tell hi m— Detective Aidan Gerard Hawks to you.  But I crush the pompous impulse.  Pomposit y’ s not good sweat-down etiquette.  “ Yeah, bro ,” I say, playing along.  What Theodore does n’ t know is that once I close the door to the interview room, there are no rules, except mine.  “I’ ve had a helluva long night . ”
    I swung by Oma r’ s earlier tonight to warn Omar Jai n’s“ girl s ” — his name for them, not min e— about safety.  This is a fact I do n’ t share with my perp.  One o f‘ e m’ s got to know something, I’ d figured.  Two other dancers have turned up dead in the alley behind the bar, and tonight we found another.  Tha t’ s three in the last two months, a problem for Newport PD.
    My other problem is the hot little dancer wh o’ s alive, the one who runs like a fucking gazelle.  Alaina Colby took off like a bat out of hell when I showed up.  She and a friend jacked my suspec t’ s Coke truck after she shot out of Oma r’ s.
    “ What about you ,” I ask, affable-like, one bud to another.  “ Looks like your evening got out of control ? ” 
    I slap his rap sheet down on the table and watch his eyes slide sideways.  H e’ s still fuzzy headed from the tasing someone gave him.  H e’ ll swear NPD did it, but we did n’ t.  Wes roughed him up a little, but I’ m sure Theodore knows what the computer printou t’ s about.  I t’ s thick enough to stop a bullet.  “ Maybe you and that little pole dancer had a disagreement?  You got angry ? ”
    “ Naw, man, m e‘ n her, w e’ re tight ,” he says.  “I’ m gonna marry Alaina . ”
    I snort a mouthful of java, trying to hide my surprise.  Wha t’ s this sausage-faced bastard think?  I’ m talking about Alaina Colby?  I saw her.  Fuck, i t’ s hard to ignore that kind of beauty.  Sh e’ s no one I’ d connect with Theodore McCloskey, the grizzly sitting across the interview table from me.  But I ask anyway.  “ You mean you and Ms. Colby are . . . engaged ? ”
    “ Haw ,” he bawls, slapping the table.  “ Good one . ”   He shakes his head.  “ Negative, good buddy . ” 
    I gaze at him, steady-eyed. 
    “ Uh, I mean, uh, I’ ve been after her to go on a date, but she ai n’ t said yes yet.  You know what I mean?  I go watch her when I get paid so I can loo k —” 
    Recalling his manners, and maybe the fact I’ m a cop and i t’ s my job to protect dancers at Oma r’ s from salacious bums like him, he looks sheepish, or maybe like a pig tha t’ s just realized I’ ve tightened the clamp on his balls. 
    “ Hell, sh e’ ll com e‘ round . ”   He slumps lower in the chair.  “ Why ?” he asks, irritation creeping into his voice.
    Maybe h e’ s jealous.  Maybe he thinks I’ m going to ask Alaina out.  Not a bad idea.  Images from earlier tonight flash through my mind.  In the movies harem dancers are dusky-skinned and dark-eyed.  They look like Alaina Colby, wearing gobs of mascara and doing a shimmy that made my tongue hard.  In the