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sure they never leave home without one.”
    â€œThey also don’t leave home unarmed,” Gage said. “Check out the front pocket of the guy on the right.”
    Spike’s cell phone vibrated a couple of minutes later as the Mexicans ate shrimp cocktails from bulbous sundae glasses.
    â€œ Hola, Mama. ” Spike spoke loudly, smiling at Gage. “ Estoy en la Fiesta Brava .” He listened for fifteen seconds, then in a lower voice passed on the warning about weapons and disconnected.
    â€œYou know what else Charlie was working on?” Spike asked.
    â€œOff the record?”
    â€œI don’t know. Tell me a little more.”
    â€œHe was trying to recover the wallet of somebody who got robbed.”
    â€œWhy off the record?”
    â€œIt was a government official.”
    â€œThere’s no law saying people have to report crimes against themselves,” Spike said. “Off the record is okay.”
    â€œBrandon Meyer was mugged a week or two before Charlie got shot.”
    â€œNo shit?”
    â€œHe wanted Charlie to get his wallet back.”
    â€œWhy didn’t Meyer report it?”
    â€œI think he was afraid it would slop back on his brother.”
    â€œI don’t get it. A mugging is a mugging. Happens all the time.”
    â€œBut this one happened at night in the Tenderloin.”
    â€œThe Tenderloin?” Even Spike wouldn’t walk through the Tenderloin after sunset, and he carried two handguns and Mace. “What was the brother of a presidential candidate doing in there? That has National Enquirer written all over it.”
    â€œMeyer claimed he cut through on his way to a meeting, but I don’t believe him.”
    Spike clucked. “You not believing an exalted federal judge like him. I’m shocked, simply shocked.”
    They watched the waiter deliver two Dos XXs to the Jaliscos.
    â€œHow’d you find out about the mugging?” Spike asked.
    â€œFrom Socorro. Then Meyer called me to drop by, but only to make sure I didn’t pursue it.”
    â€œWhy didn’t he just cancel the credit cards and forget the whole thing?”
    â€œI don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. Could be there was something in the wallet.”
    Spike grinned. “Like maybe a Viagra tablet and the cell number of a Tenderloin prostitute?”
    Gage shook his head. “Unlikely. I’m not sure sex is his thing anymore. He gets off screwing over whoever shows up in his court.”
    Spike laughed. “Talk about a helluva photo op. That pale-butted pipsqueak bouncing up and down between the legs of some methed-up hooker in a skid-row hotel.”
    Gage cast him a sour expression. “I’m glad I already finished my lunch,” Gage said, pushing away his plate. Spike was still grinning, now red-faced. “You better finish the thought before you explode.”
    â€œAnd Meyer working his little pene , yelling, ‘Motion denied! Motion denied!’ ”
    Spike laughed, stomach bouncing, until tears formed at the corners of his eyes. He wiped them with his napkin. “Man, what an image.”
    â€œAre you done ruining my meal?”
    â€œI hope so.” Spike rubbed his side. “I think I pulled a muscle.”
    One of the Jaliscos walked over to the jukebox, dropped in fifty cents, then punched a button. He returned to his table as an accordion blast began “El Corrido Contrabando,” a ballad celebrating Amado Carrillo Fuentes, Lord of the Skies, a Mexican who smuggled hundreds of tons of cocaine in 727s, then faked dying during plastic surgery and retired to Colombia.
    â€œIs that song for your benefit?” Gage asked.
    â€œNo. They think I’m an insurance salesman. Just a guy selling term life.” Spike grinned again. “When I’m really pushing life terms.”
    Gage shook his head. “You still get a kick out of this.”
    â€œThat’s why I can’t bring myself