“Maybe,” Temple admitted. “So it’s Max you want me to dissect.”
“Actually, no. I say he was a likely suspect. You say I was persecuting him. He disappeared, probably happy to not be a bone of contention any longer. No, let Max enjoy his anonymity. I’m more interested in knowing what you think about Dirty Larry.”
“Huh?”
“Dirty Larry Podesta. You’ve seen him around crime scenes. The recovering undercover guy.”
“You mean ‘Dirty Blond’ Dirty Larry.”
“If you say so. So you think blond means ‘dumb’? You’re marrying a blond.”
“Do I have to call him Dirty Larry? It’s so seventies.”
Molina cracked a smile. Vodka will do that to even the most poker-faced person. “Yes, he does seem out of some Steve McQueen time zone, doesn’t he?”
“I thought you liked him.”
“I have associated with him. Or, rather, he has associated with me. What do you think?”
“He’s not your type.”
“Do we know what is my type?”
“I guess not,” Temple admitted. “You are an enigma wrapped in a torch singer hiding behind a madonna.”
“We ought to tip a glass more often.” Molina tipped hers, but Temple noticed her vivid blue eyes were completely focused.
That was the problem with striking eyes. Temple’s were a changeable blue-gray, which allowed her to play vague or steel-sharp.
“Dirty Larry.” Temple savored the theatricality of the nickname. “Did he decide to leave the undercover detail, or was he shuffled out?”
“The records on that are vague.”
“Suspicious in itself. Your impression?”
“He showed up suddenly. I could have been flattered. Or I could have decided I got a rash of unknown origin.”
“So you never trusted him.”
“I never trust anyone.”
“That is sad, Carmen.”
“Did I say we were on first-name basis, Temple?”
“You gave me a ring, Carmen.”
The lieutenant burst out laughing. “I would hate to play poker with you, I’ll give you that. Look. My personal and professional life is a mess at the moment, admitted. I bet you’d be busy loving that, except you can’t admit how worried you are about your missing ex, even with the upscale brass ring from another man on your third finger, left hand. I can’t admit how wrong I probably was about your ex, which makes him the elephant in the room. But we aren’t the type to go around blindfolded discussing elephants when we can be doing something productive, are we? Is Dirty Larry dirty or not?”
“He could be. You don’t invite hangers-on, and he’s sure stubborn about that.”
“Exactly,” Molina said. “I’ve watched him as much as I can with a mystery stalker intruding now and then into my house, and my teenage daughter acting out, and me trying to push an invisible man into a corner, where I’ll probably end up getting myself trapped.”
“I’d lose him,” Temple said. “Personally. Watch your back, but lose him.”
Molina nodded and lifted her glass. “Any more where this came from?”
“If you want Crystal Light and no-name vodka, you have hit the mother lode.”
Temple bustled off to refill their glasses. She made Molina’s heavy on the vodka, hers on the Crystal Light. Did she think she could outdrink the Iron Maiden of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department, or Carmen the bar singer, or whatever role Molina was going to whip out of her blazer today? Not without playing a bit dirty. Dirty. The word of the hour. Maybe.
“So,” said Molina, when Temple had returned with the drinks reloaded. “You’ve disposed of Dirty Larry as a bad idea whose time has not come. What about … Detective Alch?”
“Really? We’re supposed to discuss him, as what? A detective? Or a favorite uncle?”
“Your opinion, your choice.”
“He’s kind of like me,” Temple said thoughtfully.
Molina almost spit out her drink in surprise. “How in the world?”
“Fiercer than you’d think.”
Molina thought about it for a long while, then nodded grudgingly. “My best man.”
“Are we still speaking professionally?”
“Your choice.”
“Solid-gold veteran,” Temple declared. “And … a bonus: he gets girls.”
“How do you mean ‘girls’?”
“All ages, all stages.”
“He has an only daughter, grown,” Molina confirmed. “Ah! And a wife?”
“Ex-wife.”
“Somehow I don’t get someone leaving him.”
“It was the other way around, but it wasn’t his fault.”
“No. It wouldn’t be,” Temple said.
“Does Alch know you’re such a fan?”
“Probably, but he wouldn’t think much about it. Does he know you’re such a fan?”
“Did I say that?”
“He’s your right-hand man. I say that.”
Molina nodded and sipped. “And Rafi Nadir.”
She didn’t phrase it as a question, but Temple realized it was the one “burning” question Molina actually wanted someone else’s opinion on.
Wow. Had Rafi supplanted Max as the object of Molina’s obsession? Was this progress or regression or just plain human?
Temple went for shock value. “Max didn’t think much of him.”
“Kinsella knew him?”
As if there were another Max in this town for either of them. Temple noticed Molina was back to last names, a way of dehumanizing people.
“Max ran into Rafi when your ex first came to Vegas,” she explained, “and was working temporary security jobs around town.”
Molina raised her eyebrows expectantly, but no way was Temple going to turn this into a discussion of Max’s various efforts to protect Temple and investigate traces of the bizarre cabal of magicians known as the Synth.
“He found Rafi bitter and biased and just plain bad news.” Temple spotted the slightest hint of a wince in Molina’s features, which she hid behind another sip of sweet-and-sour vodka pop.
Molina was forced to interrogate further. “Later you, as Zoe Chloe Ozone, were so warned off the guy that when you teamed up with my daughter at the Teen Idol reality-TV house, you both got crazy cozy with Rafi Nadir, of all security personnel to turn to with a murderer on the premises.”
“Sounds nuts, doesn’t it?” Temple said with a sober sip and a smile. “Zoe and Mariah were just crazy mixed-up teen kids, right? Actually, Rafi proved pretty perceptive in that house of pop-culture horror and murder. He looked out for us both.”
“And got close to my daughter under false pretenses.”
“Did he even know he had a daughter then? I don’t think so. They just naturally clicked.”
“Oh, my God! You’ve been encouraging their unlikely relationship just to bug me.”
“It’s never been about you, Carmen Molina. That’s like saying you were chasing Max’s shadow all over Vegas for a murder rap just to annoy me. Other people are living their lives naturally, without it being a conspiracy you need to bust.”
Temple sat back. “Yes, I’ve decided that Rafi isn’t so bad. You’re just mad because you’ve come to the same conclusion after Mariah and I did. And ditto for Max. You’re fresh out of personal villains, unless Dirty Larry cooperates and turns out to be a pimp or something.”
Temple wasn’t sure whether Molina was going to explode, stomp out of there, arrest her, or … laugh.
“You are fiercer than you look,” Molina said, shaking her head. “Good thing you plied me with vodka doubles so I’m in a good mood. No. I don’t need any personal villains. Or heroes. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t getting back at me for pursuing your apparently heroic ex-boyfriend by foisting the villainous Rafi on me.”
“It does seem you underestimated each other back when you were young and foolish. Rafi does seem to have reformed enough to earn a shot at fatherhood, and Mariah deserves to know who he is. She likes him, you know.”