wouldn't ruin their designer clothes. I guess I stood out a little. I'd put on a fresh T-shirt and jeans, but the tequila bottle in my hand was easily the most expensive thing I had on. Or maybe it was the look on my face that made people stop talking as I walked through the front yard. I pushed past a few city councilmen, some local business leaders, a group of elderly women criticizing the younger women's dresses. A lot of the people I recognized from the old days. Nobody said hello.
I went around the side of the house, put down my tequila bottle, picked up the outside garbage bin, and went into the kitchen through the servants' entrance. The place was bustling with caterers, tortilla-makers, waiters. As I started emptying their trash cans into mine I spoke to the nearest group in Spanish.
"Holy shit, can you believe how much these cavrons are eating? The ceviche is almost gone, man. You'd better bring in another few gallons."
In a few minutes I'd put fresh liners in all the cans, whipped the tortilla-makers into a frenzy of activity, and moved across the room without anybody asking who the hell I was. I patted a waiter on the back and handed him my garbage can.
"Hold this for a minute," I told him.
Then I slipped into the hallway.
Once upstairs I only had to look in three doorways to find what I wanted. Cookie had laid out a pile of dresses on her bed. The vanity against the back wall was an explosion of makeup containers. The whole place smelled like very old strawberry potpourri. On the rolltop mahogany study in the corner, a laptop computer was waiting for me.
I didn't need Spider John's help for this one. Nothing was protected. Even half-drunk, it only took me about ten minutes. Then I went back out through the kitchen and came into the party through the front door.
Dan was nowhere to be seen, but on one of the upper balconies that looked over the living room, Cookie Sheff was laughing at the mayor's joke. Tonight her luminous blond hair was bigger than ever. Her makeup would've worked just fine with 3-D glasses. She had decided on wearing a black sequined evening gown that was probably supposed to look alluring but just made her angular body look like it had been constructed from Tinkertoys.
I headed for the side office where Dan and I had last talked. When I looked up again Cookie had noticed me. I smiled and waved. Except for the makeup, the color drained out of her face. Then she excused herself politely from the mayor and left the balcony.
The office door was locked. I took out a piece of laminate from my pocket. Ten seconds later I was inside. Dan wasn't there either. Lillian's parents were. The Cambridges cut short their conversation and looked up as if they were expecting someone else. Sitting behind Dan Sr.'s desk, lvir. Cambridge looked weary. He was hunched over into a pale triangle of light from the desk lamp, staring up at me over bifocals. Mrs. Cambridge stood next to him, holding tightly to her own wrists. She'd been crying.
"God damn you," said Mr. Cambridge to me. He started to get up, hands straightening his tuxedo.
"Zeke - " murmured his wife. She came toward me, her hands trembling a little. "Tres - "
I guess that's when she saw the look on my face. She hesitated. But Lillian's mother wasn't one to be stopped long by a derelict's expression and the smell of liquor. Tentatively she touched my arm.
"Tres, you shouldn't really, dear - I mean, things are so complicated right now. You shouldn't - "
"God damn you," Zeke Cambridge said again. "Don't you ever stop?"
He swept some knickknacks from the top of Dan Sr.'s desk onto the floor.
We glared at each other. It didn't feel like much of a triumph when he looked away first. He was tired, old, distraught. I was half-drunk and I didn't give a damn. Mrs. Cambridge held my arm a little tighter.
"How are things complicated?" I asked, trying to see straight. My eyes had started burning and I wasn't sure why. "Lillian's missing, nobody's doing shit about it, and, you're sitting in the private study of the woman I'd vote Most Likely to Abduct Someone. How is that complicated?
Zeke Cambridge scowled. His huge gray eyebrows came together.
"What the hell are you talking about, boy?"
"Please, Tres," Lillian's mother said.
The door behind me opened.