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somebody here did it? Is that why you’re bothering us?”
    â€œNo, we’re just…” I started to say before Michi piped up.
    â€œThese are good boys. Good boys!” He turned to Cole. “Oh my God, to think that monster took one of my boizu !” He removed a cigarette case from a pocket of his kimono and opened it, tremblingly removed a cigarette and touched it to his lips. His eyes, almost hidden in folds of fat, darted suspiciously around the room, then settled like roulette balls on me. He removed a hideous bronze cigarette lighter from his pocket and looked at it, then up at me. It was cast in the image of two naked prepubescent boys entwined in a carnal act.
    Maybe it was the look on my face, or maybe it was the memory of the first time he and I met. His eyes narrowed even more than usual, his forehead collapsing into elephantine folds and ridges. “So that’s why you’re here,” he whispered. I noticed a white gob stuck in one of his wrinkles. It looked like geisha makeup or cake icing. It stood out like a wart.
    Adam said, “We’re trying to trace the victim’s movements. If anybody knows who he went out with, we need to talk to them.”
    â€œOne of the boizu at the party might know,” Cole said.
    â€œI’ll need to talk to everyone.” Adam opened his notepad and took a pen from his pocket.
    â€œHold on there a minute, partner,” Cole drawled. “You can’t just go busting in, they’ll think it’s a vice raid. At least give them a minute to put some pants on.”
    â€œI don’t want anybody bailing before I can question them.”
    â€œNobody’s going to bail on you, honey.”
    Cole departed. He still had his martini. Michi and I stared at one another across the curved divider of the Casanova, while Adam leaned in the doorway watching Cole down the hall. Michi clicked the lighter and touched the flame to the tip of the unlit cigarette still dangling from the corner of his froglike mouth.
    â€œMay I?” I held out my hand to him. He laid the cigarette case across my palm. It was heavy, gold with ivory inlay—an antique, probably real elephant ivory. I opened it and removed a cigarette, lit it with Michi’s dirty boy lighter, and inhaled the smoke. I took a sip of my martini. It was perfect, of course. I couldn’t imagine a man like Cole Ritter mixing anything less than a perfect gin martini.
    â€œYou almost look glamorous, Jacqueline,” Michi said as I blew jets of smoke through my nose. His words were friendly, conversational, but his voice was strained, venomous. “You do clean up well.”
    â€œThanks.” I wasn’t sure what he was getting at. I tried the martini again. It was damned good gin. I couldn’t place the brand. Something my father used to drink.
    Michi continued, “You really don’t belong in your generation. You and my wife would have made quite the pair back in ’55, dressed to the nines with your hair done up and your heels, mink stoles from King Furs draped over your arms, leaning against the bar at the Peabody on a Saturday afternoon, smoking Turkish cigarettes and drinking Cosmos and then maybe going upstairs to Alice’s private suite for an hour of hot fingerfucking before the picture show.”
    â€œExcuse me?” I almost dropped my cigarette. Michi clapped a chubby hand around my wrist and clutched it with a vicious passion. He surprised me with his strength. I tried but I couldn’t pull free.
    â€œHow dare you bring the police into my house again!” he hissed. “After what you did to me…”
    â€œHey, pal!” Adam grabbed Michi by the back of the neck and pressed his chins against the loveseat divider. It was all he could do to get his fingers around Michi’s rolls of fat. Michi let go of my arm, then shrugged off Adam’s hand. He picked up the spare martini, but didn’t drink