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set of wheels. You do your own work?”
    “Every piece of it. She’s all mine.”
    “I’ll have mine with me tomorrow. We can trade war stories.”
    “Sure, no such thing as too much car talk.”
    He clearly didn’t know Chris. His lover had little use for any kind of vehicle, unless it cost a mint and was a hot property, even if he’d had to settle for a Ford Escape when he’d launched his own business four years ago. He still dreamed of lush wheels and trendy little emblems. He loved the end result of David’s work on the Chevy ‘56 two-tone sport coupe that had consumed over six years, but always got glassy-eyed when David actually talked about the work he had done on it.
    They were alone at the crime scene. David waited for Jairo to sign the log book, then he did the same, and officially released the site.
    “Meet you back at the station,” Jairo said and slipped into his car. He revved the engine and spun around in a circle, vanishing down the road, toward Los Feliz in a cloud of dust.
    David climbed behind the wheel of his Crown Vic, and sat there for several minutes, running over the day’s events. Jairo was right on one thing, the case didn’t look good for an easy solve. Too many unknowns, including the identities of the victims, and the actual location of the deaths. And unless the post gave them something more concrete, this kind of homicide did have a lousy close rate.

    30 P.A. Brown
    He debated calling Chris, deciding not to. Once he told Chris he was all but done for the night, he’d want him to come home. But David didn’t feel like going home just yet. Chris had been in such a bad mood lately. If he waited long enough maybe he’d be in bed when he got there, and hopefully in a better mood tomorrow.
    Maybe a beer would be a good idea. He could unwind and put this thing in perspective.
    Jairo was at his desk—the one Martinez had occupied until he’d been sent to the 77th Street Area Community Police Station to work in their gang detail—the phone pinned under his chin, a pen in his hand. He looked up when David entered the room.
    He finished up his conversation and wrote up some notes.
    “Still want to grab that beer?” David asked.
    “Sure,” he said. “You said you like sports?”
    “Yeah, you know a place?”
    “Leo’s All-Star Sports Bar, up in La Crescenta.”
    David had never heard of it. “Why not.”
    “How about I drive? You can tell me what you think of the wheels. I’ll drop you back here, later.”
    The bar was packed and noisy. A juke box poured out country laments and the place reeked of hops and jalapeños.
    Every wall was full of TVs, including a giant projection screen that filled one whole wall.
    The click of billiard balls, and the buzz and whistles of pinball machines, could barely be heard over the hum of voices.
    They found a corner table recently vacated, where they could both sit with their backs to the photo covered wall. There they waited for their whip-thin server to clear the table and take their drink orders. David got a Bud draft, Jairo a Sierra Nevada.
    The juke box switched from country to easy listening. The nearest TV was showing a UFC match. Jairo leaned forward, eyes alight.

    L.A. BONEYARD 31
    “All right, Penn and Sherk. Now there’s a righteous match.”
    He looked back to find David watching him. “You into the fights?”
    “I’m a hoop fan. Lakers.”
    Jairo grinned. “Forget that crap. The Clippers are the team.
    Lakers haven’t done shit since Shaquille retired.”
    “To each his own. You from L.A?”
    “San Diego. We moved up here when I was twelve, to Arcadia. We moved back four years later. But when I knew I wanted to be a cop, I looked at the San Diego PD and wasn’t exactly thrilled. Even after all the troubles I still wanted to join LAPD. So I took the test and got accepted. Let me tell you, I got some flack over that.”
    “Family?”
    “You’d think I’d killed the pope. Become a cop? Worse, an LAPD cop?”
    David