After jimmying his building’s entrance door, I arrived at Blackhead’s apartment, knocked quietly, and waited. He moved behind the door then demanded my identity. Since I’d spent most of my life wondering about the same, I couldn’t do the question justice standing in a corridor rancid with cooking grease and ammonia. Emil unbolted and opened the door a chain’s width. My shoulder, fresh arm scab and all, powered it the rest of the way.

Blackhead stood staring glassy-eyed at the dangling latch. “I keep forgetting the Nazis won the war.” He spoke in a drugged-out drawl.

“What’re you high on, Emil?”

He slapped the door closed and sprawled back onto the couch with his legs outstretched. “You called me Emil.” His brown, crooked teeth exposed themselves. “You either want me for something, or you’re riding the rag. I ain’t heard nothing about your 4×4.”

I sat down on the ugly purple mohair. “It’s impossible for you to tell the truth, isn’t it?” Blackhead’s bloodshot eyes drooped into my own. “You want to get high, don’t you?” His grin grew wider and his eyes sparkled. “I’m smoking some serious Sinsemilla, man.” He reached into his pants pocket and tossed a ball of tinfoil at me. “Try not to spill none, okay?”

My fingers searched for the seam to open the foil. I stared down at the large buds but forced myself to set the package gently down on the floor. Something was wrong. Emil was too calm.

Blackhead watched with heavy eyes. “You like being ugly?”

I sat deeper in the chair to get away from the tantalizing aroma. “You sound pretty sure of yourself today, Emil.” I kept my tone conversational.

He slouched further into the couch. “Confident, like you’re in the catbird’s seat.” He shrugged.

“Like you expect a promotion.”

That caught a bit of his attention and his face began to shut down. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Well, Lonny said…” I saw concern flash behind his haze. “How much of that did you smoke, Blackhead? Maybe you don’t recognize the name. Lonny Prezoil. Do you know who I’m talking about now?”

“What do you want?” His high had slipped into sullen.

“Sorry Emil, all that work and you still aren’t going to get the job.”

I watched him try to connect me and Prezoil. The confusion never left his face, but he realized I wasn’t bluffing. “How do you know Lonny?”

I cross-ruffed. “You don’t seem concerned about the police catching on to your method of career advancement?”

“Why would the police give a shit about me setting up some private Peeping Tom?” He pulled himself out of his slump and stood. “I’m going to wash my face.” He turned sideways and sneered, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll try to sneak out the back?”

I showed him the gun. “That would give me an excuse to shoot.”

He stumbled toward the bathroom, and I heard the water run. Straight or stoned, he should have been more worried about Darryl’s death. Or else Emil was made of stronger stuff than I’d credited.

I sat forward in my seat, reached down, and tore a bud from the pack. I’d just put it between my teeth when Emil suddenly appeared over my shoulder.

“You won’t get high with me, but you’re not above stealing my dope.” He walked back to the couch, sat, and said, “Maybe we ain’t so different.”

“How’d you get the red out of your eyes, Emil?”

“?Visine, Bloodhound. You figured I rolled you to Prezoil, huh?” I nodded.

“How’d you get it?”

“Followed you to the parking lot.”

He clenched his fist and looked at the tinfoil at my feet. “Goddamnit.”

I shrugged, then watched his face crunch with thought. “You fucked my play with him, didn’t you?” he accused.

“No. You fucked your play with him. I’m fucking your game with me.”

A sly look crossed his face. “Maybe you’re here for a piece of the action. Maybe you never talked to him.”

I smiled at the forlorn hope in his voice. “Sorry, Blackhead. I want a piece of you, not your fantasy action.”

“It wouldn’t be no fantasy if you had butted out when you were supposed to.” “Don’t kid yourself. Prezoil wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

“Ahh shit.” He shook his head. “I got nobody to blame but myself. If I hadn’t asked you for help, I might be sitting pretty.” All of a sudden his hand sprang up and grabbed at his beard. “Did you tell Lonnie it was me that… Ahh, I’m fucked.”

His face darkened. “You’re a bringdown, Jack. Why don’t you get out of here? You did your job and saved Lonny a rotten conversation. Just give me back my dope.”

I tried to bolster my own sagging spirit. “Does it bother you that Darryl’s dead for no damn reason? Or that I intend to turn you in?”

“Turn me in for what?” He started to inhale deeply. “Wait a minute.” His mouth gulped for air. “Wait a minute. You’re pissed about me using you, but that’s no reason to railroad me.”

I nodded. “I got to hand it to you, Emil, you’re good. Very good. I took you for a lizard in a leisure suit—no balls, no brain. But you lie real, real good.”

He half-rose from the couch. “You vicious prick! I asked you to check something out for me. I was scared and made a mistake.” He waved his hands wildly. “Okay, I saw an opportunity to use my mistake and get in good with Lonny. That’s all, man. I didn’t have any idea they’d pull a runover. Shit, you didn’t even get hurt. Now you want to stick me for D’s death? No way man, D’s death was an accident.”

I didn’t want to believe him. He’d lied to me since we met. “You have a solid alibi for the night Darryl died, right?”

I watched as he ransacked the musty files in his head. His voice was shrill. “How do I know? I was probably here.”

“That ought to go well in court.”

This time he made it completely off the couch. “Darryl scared you with a truck so it’s okay to run my ass to Walpole?”

Doubt dragged at my determination, but I ignored it. “I don’t like you dumping someone into a quarry to get more turf.”

He paced through the load of dirty clothes and bags of junk food on the floor. “No way, man. I didn’t do anything to Darryl, I’m not gonna do time.”

“Blackhead, the only way you could deal coke was to get rid of Darryl. Or so you thought.” He stopped his pacing. “I don’t want to sell coke,” he pleaded. “I don’t even use it; it makes me too jumpy. All I did was take advantage of knowing about the transfer. I knew they’d want you out of the neighborhood. Shit, my reward for turning on you had nothing to do with D’s turf. You’re chewing on it.”

“You want to sell coke, Emil. Darryl wasn’t cold before you hustled for his job.”

He shook his head vigorously. “Not coke. I want to sell bigger pieces. I got no one to sell coke to. No one I know has that kind of bread.”

He looked at me. “I don’t know if you believe this shit or you’re just trying to get even. But this ain’t even…”

“Why are you so worried if you had nothing to do with it?”

He walked into his dirty kitchen and poured a glass of water, forgetting it as he returned. “I’ve seen too many people busted for things they didn’t do. Pigs want clean records. No one is gonna believe me. They’ll use your bullshit to close the book. And if that fucking letter writer shows I’ll really be dead meat.” He looked at me imploringly. “Why do you want to do this to me, man?”

I brushed aside his words. “I have someone who said you sold coke. You’re already dead meat.”

“Whoever told you that is lying,” he almost shouted.

I bit back the growing dread in my belly. “You lied to me from the beginning. Now I’m supposed to believe you?”

His head bobbed eagerly up and down. “That’s right, man. That’s exactly right.”

“That’s exactly wrong.” My voice was harsh and flat. If he wasn’t lying someone else was. “Is this payback, Matt?”

A half-formed idea forced its way through my stubbornness, and I didn’t trust my voice. I nodded grimly.

“You really believe I did D to take over selling his coke?” “Sounds right to me,” I said tonelessly, my conviction gone. “You check with Lonny! He’ll tell you what I sell!”

Emil’s proof wouldn’t convince anyone from a jury to a broken down detective, but he had begun to convince me.