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again asking about this man Covington. You understand what I’m telling you?”
    “The cops have a mind of their own,” Gunner said. “If I told you I can control where they go and who they talk to, I’d be full of shit.”
    “They aren’t gonna come around here unless you bring ’em around.”
    “Okay. So I won’t bring ’em around. Providing, ofcourse, you can convince me you had nothing to do with Covington’s disappearance.”
    “I didn’t. I swear it.”
    “Good. Now convince me.”
    Blue paused one final time, sucked in a deep breath. “Some people in this world you just don’t wanna fuck with. Man I saw with Covington that night, he’s like that. He ever finds out I talked to you about this, I’m dead. That’s guaranteed.”
    “I understand,” Gunner said.
    “He was with Covington the time I saw him going back into his room. They were going in together, it looked like Covington was inviting him in.”
    “Who?”
    Blue shook his head. “I don’t know the man’s real name. All I know is what people like to call him: Barber Jack. On account of the razor he carries, the biggest fucking knife I ever saw.”
    “Barber Jack? You mean Johnny Frerotte?”
    “I told you. I never heard the man’s real name.”
    “Johnny Frerotte’s about five-six, five-seven, weighs close to two hundred and thirty pounds. Light skin, light hair, walks like he’s got bricks in his pockets.”
    “You know him.”
    “No. But we’ve met.”
    The truth was much more complicated than that, but Gunner didn’t care to say so just yet.
    “Then I don’t have to tell you why I don’t like talking to you about this,” Blue said. “Do I?”
    “No. You don’t,” Gunner admitted. Wondering if he’d be doing any talking, were their situations reversed.
    “It might not’ve even been him, I don’t know,” Blue said. “I’d only seen the man once before. But it sure looked like him to me.”
    “And you only saw him with Covington the one time?”
    “Going into unit five, yeah. That was the last time I saw either one of them that night.”
    Gunner asked him if he’d overheard any conversation between the two men, and Blue shook his head, said, “They weren’t having any conversation. At least, none that I could hear, anyway.”
    “Then you don’t know what they were doing together.”
    “No. I don’t.”
    “And you weren’t curious enough to find out.”
    “Curious? Why the hell would I be curious?”
    “I just thought it might pique your interest, that’s all. Seeing a Joe Average tourist like Covington rubbing elbows with a local psycho like Barber Jack.”
    “My interest doesn’t get piqued over shit like that. I told you.”
    “You don’t like mixing in other people’s business.”
    “That’s right. I don’t.”
    “I know you’re never going to believe this,” Gunner said, slipping the Ruger back into its holster under his left arm. “But I don’t like to do it much, myself.”
    He was trying to be fair, giving the janitor this one last chance to rush him, but the younger man never moved. Either distrustful or merely disinterested, he just stood there and watched as Gunner wrapped a business card in a twenty dollar bill, tossed the bundle atop the bed beside him.
    “The money’s for the table. The card’s for you,” the investigator said.
    Then he turned and walked out the door.

four
    B ARBER J ACK ’ S STRAIGHT RAZOR WAS EIGHT INCHES LONG.
    A winged dragon with a serpentine tail was ornately carved into both sides of its ivory handle, and its gilded, finely filigreed blade was always polished to perfection. People who claimed to have seen its owner wield it said he liked to open the razor up slowly, dazzle a foe with the light dancing off its edges before cutting him down with a single sweep of his right arm. The city was teeming with stories of those who had died at the touch of Barber Jack’s uniquely horrific weapon, but few were ever told about those who had managed to