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both times?”
    “Yeah.”
    “This phone book he wanted to borrow. What kind are we talking about? The Yellow Pages, the White Pages …?”
    “White Pages. There’s a Yellow Pages in every room here.”
    “Any chance that book’s still around?”
    Blue shook his head. “We get new books in here every three months. That book’s long gone.”
    “He say anything to you other than to ask for the White Pages?”
    “He asked me where he could get something to eat—that was it.”
    “How about visitors?”
    The man named Blue paused for a fraction of a second, said, “He didn’t have any visitors.”
    “And you know this because …?”
    “Because I didn’t see any.”
    Gunner didn’t say anything, waiting to see if a little silence would change the man’s mind.
    It didn’t.
    “You never saw him with anyone else that night?” the investigator finally asked.
    “No.”
    “I think you’re full of shit, Brother Blue.”
    The younger man’s eyes lit up, the muscles in his shoulders visibly flexing, but he made no attempt to move. “If that’s how you feel,” he said, “you won’t mind if I go back to work now. Will you?”
    “The man had a family back in St. Louis,” Gunner said. “A wife and two kids. Did I neglect to mention that?”
    “I’m all through talking to you, Mr. Gunner. Step off.”
    “Just like that, huh?”
    “Unless you want me to help you.”
    Gunner opened his arms wide, invited him to do just that.
    Blue laughed as if Gunner had to be kidding, didn’t see the right hand the other man was throwing until it hit him just below his left eye. The blow threw him backwards like someone falling off a cliff, sent him crashing into a wobbly-legged coffee table that exploded under his weight. He recovered instantly, rolled over and was ready to return the favor when a sudden change of heart overcame him. Gunner suspected the 9-millimeter Ruger in his right hand had a good deal to do with that.
    “You’re thinking I won’t kill you, you’re probably right,” Gunner said, aiming the gun’s snout in the general direction of the space between the janitor’s eyes. “But I’ll kneecap your ass without a second thought, that’s how you want to play it.”
    Blue remained motionless, legs coiled up beneath him like a cobra about to strike, then slowly came to his feet again. “You’re a lucky man,” he said, his gaze entirely focused on the Ruger.
    “You mean because I brought this?” Gunner asked, grinning. “That isn’t luck. It’s intelligence. Hardheads like you make this sort of thing a necessity in my business.”
    “It’s not going to change the fact I’ve got nothing else to tell you.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that. Your friend Cong will be, too. Like I said before, he was hoping I could get the information I require without involving the police in any of this.”
    “Man, fuck the police. Fuck Cong. And fuck you.”
    “Damn. That’s a real hostility problem you’ve got there, Mr. Blue. I come here to ask you a few questions, and you start throwing ‘fuck yous’ around. Where the hell is all this anger coming from, man?”
    “I don’t like mixing in other people’s business. You got a problem with that?”
    “I’m not convinced yet Covington’s business wasn’t your business. In fact, I’m starting to think more and more that they might’ve been one and the same.”
    “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to that man. Not a thing!”
    “So who did? You aren’t buggin’ like this because you don’t know. You’re either trying to protect yourself, or somebody else. Or maybe both.”
    Blue fell silent again, his attention turned once more to the Ruger Gunner was still halfheartedly training upon him. It was clearly the only thing keeping him from going for Gunner’s throat, let alone becoming nonconversant.
    “I tell you what you want to hear,” he said finally, “it’s over. For good. I don’t ever wanna see you or the cops in here