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“I’m sorry,” Hannibal said. “I was looking for Ben Cochran.”

“And you got his wife instead,” she replied, presenting her hand.

“Hannibal Jones,” he said, taking her hand. She shook firmly, like a man, and looked him in the eye as she did.

“You can call me Queenie. Come on in. How do you know Ben?”

The woman’s red hair went down to the roots, but it was up in the big-hair style that Hannibal hoped would some day go out of style even in the Deep South. Walking behind her, he could not help but notice her figure. The woman was heavy-chested and broad-hipped, but everything was in the right proportions. Her American flag t-shirt and jeans were just a tiny bit too tight, but that only accented her shape, which Hannibal would have described as robust. He thought that perhaps this was what happened to a woman if she quit pole-dancing cold turkey.

“I bumped into Ben because we were watching the same guy.”

“You’re shitting me,” Queenie said, slapping a pack of Camels against her index finger to make one of the cigarettes pop out. She captured it with her lips and slid it free of the pack.

“Nope. Same mark,” Hannibal said. “I was kind of hoping to put our heads together on this. You know, team up.”

“Well as you can see, Benny ain’t here.” Queenie never looked toward Hannibal for a light, just pulled out a pack of matches and lit her own cigarette.

“Maybe you can help. I just want to know why he’d want pictures of the man.”

“He’s just got this crazy idea he can blackmail Gana with some pictures,” she said, putting one red high heel up on the chair she was standing beside. “Like, do what I say or I’ll let the whole gang know where you are.”

“So he is on the run.”

“Better believe it,” Queenie said, shooting a narrow stream of smoke his way. “That’s what happens when you steal from your betters. The boss is pretty pissed.”

“Your boss?” Hannibal asked. He regretted the question as soon as he voiced it. Asking too many can make some people suspicious.

“Who did you say you were again?”

“Hannibal Jones.” He gave her a card as a sign of his legitimacy. “I’m a local private investigator. I don’t want to mess up Ben’s action, but it’s hard when I don’t know what the action is.”

“Ben didn’t tell you why he was there?”

“We didn’t have much of a chance to talk before Gana came out of the house after us,” Hannibal said.

“You kidding?” Queenie said, flicking her cigarette’s ash into a tray. “What did he do?”

“I took off before Gana caught up to Ben. I think he broke the camera though.”

“Damn,” she said, breathing smoke as she spoke. “That thing was expensive.”

“How does he know Gana anyway?”

“He don’t know him. I do.” Queenie took a long drag on her cigarette and started marching her spiked heels around the room. “This Dani Gana character and I worked together once. He had a sweet deal. Then one day he disappeared with some of the boss’ money. Very uncool. The boss wanted us to hunt him down but I figure there’s no percentage in turning him over to the boss. My thinking is he’ll be willing to trade the money for his freedom.”

“Ben didn’t seem to me the kind of guy who’d be up to blackmailing somebody like that,” Hannibal said, leaning on the back of the chair that still held the imprint of Queenie’s heel.

Queenie stopped pacing and looked at Hannibal over her shoulder. “You look like you’re up the challenge,” she said in a way that made Hannibal doubt she was talking about blackmail. “Maybe you could help us out.”

“Help you out how?”

“You’re a detective,” she said, as if that made everything obvious. “You just help us find the money and get it back, and we’ll give you a nice cut.”

Hannibal eased down onto the chair. “You’re all about the money, ain’t you? If I was you, I’d be more worried about Ben.”

“Why? What’s he done now?”

“I don’t really know,” Hannibal said. “But I do know his car is abandoned on a little side street. It’s been sitting there for two days.”

“Abandoned?” Queenie stared into Hannibal’s dark lenses and for the first time he thought he saw genuine concern in her eyes. “Where is it?”

“A few blocks from Gana’s place.”

“Jesus. I hope nothing’s happened to the big lug.”

“Well, when you go chasing after thieves…” Big lug? Hannibal hadn’t heard that phrase since he was watching old movies with his mother back in Germany.

“If it’s by Gana’s, then it can’t be too far from here,” she said, pulling a white satin windbreaker out of the closet. “Take me to the car.” When Hannibal didn’t move, she clamped her eyes shut and added, “Please?”

Hannibal led her out to his Volvo, telling himself that there might be some useful information inside the vehicle. Maybe Ben took notes during his surveillance of Gana, or maybe he had a lead on the money. If Gana’s fortune was indeed stolen, he needed to know the source to finish his assignment. Queenie was playing things close, but if he did her a favor or two, got on her side, she might tell Hannibal who she worked for and how much Gana stole.

While he drove, Queenie stared out the window, examining every face that passed as if it might be her husband. She may have been both the brains and the guts of this team, but it appeared that Ben was the heart. She seemed lost without him.

She was getting antsy when they pulled into the block where Hannibal had twice passed the Saturn. Traffic was lighter in midafternoon and he rolled very slowly down the street, looking for the fire hydrant that was his landmark.

“Come on,” Queenie said when they were a little more than half way down the block. “Where is it?”

Hannibal couldn’t answer. The little brown Saturn was gone.