We weren’t able to reopen for the rest of the day. After they spoke to me and to Mikey, Percy and O’Shea went out to the dumpster and we locked up the store.

Before going home, Mikey and I stood at the edge of the back parking lot. The sky was thick and steel-colored. It was just over seventy degrees, as it had been for days. That seemed somehow appropriate for staring at a crime scene. Bright and sunny would have felt wrong. Mikey and I watched with our arms tightly crossed.

Three guys wearing dark blue windbreakers with the letters SID on the back were carefully taking everything out of the dumpster bit by bit and examining it. It had to be disgusting work.

They’d set up a white tent with no sides next to the dumpster. The body lay underneath it on a plastic sheet. Another guy wore the same kind of blue jacket except his said CORONER on the back. He was attached to the white van parked in front of Pinx Video. He leaned over the body and made notes.

Guy had been turned face up and even from thirty feet away I could see there was a large bloodstain on his shirt.

“He was either shot or stabbed,” I said to Mikey.

“Shot.”

“How do you know that?”

“Detective Percy asked if you owned a gun.”

They didn’t ask me if I owned a gun.

“What did you tell them?” I asked.

“That you don’t keep a gun at Pinx. I mean, I have no idea if you have a gun at home.”

“I don’t have a gun at home. Guns scare me. You know that. You could have told them that.”

“If I talk to them again, I will.”

We watched for a bit. Percy and O’Shea stood around looking unhappy. Every so often a uniformed officer came over to speak to them. I imagined that uniforms were going around the neighborhood asking questions about last night.

“My car was in the parking lot just after midnight. I left it here while I was down at Cuffs,” I told Mikey.

“Really? I knew you had to be into something, but I didn’t think it was that.”

“I don’t—never mind. Did they say anything about that? About my car being here?”

“No.”

“I wonder how they knew?”

The lot was set down about five feet below the sidewalk. To enter it you came down a short ramp. To leave you went up another ramp. There was room for about twelve cars and we shared the lot with the dry cleaners and Taco Mario. We didn’t encourage our customers to use the lot; it was too small.

Mikey glanced up at a two-story apartment building behind the parking lot to the east, and then at another behind me to the south. A lot of people could have seen my car. But then, they would have only seen a red Sentra and the city was full of them. How did they know it was mine?

“What else did they ask you about?”

“What kind of person you were. I told them you were nice.”

“Thank you for lying.”

“I didn’t—oh, that’s a joke. Sorry, I’m still kind of freaked. They asked how well you knew Guy Peterson. You didn’t know him well, did you? I mean, you seemed like you didn’t.”

“I didn’t know him well.” Something occurred to me. “Did you tell them about Guy’s boyfriend?”

“I did. Should I have not done that?”

“No, Mikey, you did fine. Telling the truth is never the wrong thing to do.”

It was an awkward thing to say. I was hardly following my own advice. I’d lied to the police but only because I thought they might kill me. I didn’t think they’d kill Mikey, so it was fine that he’d told the truth. For him. It might not work out so well for Ted Bain.

“So, who was it that died in the camera shop?” Mikey asked.

“I have no idea. I heard there are still over a hundred people missing after the riots. I guess whoever it is, they’re on that list.”

A few minutes later, we went back into the store. I told Mikey he should go home and pay himself for a full day. Even if the police finished soon I didn’t see much point in reopening. I hung around to call the evening shift and tell them not to come in, and locked up.

I was almost finished when I realized there was one more thing I needed to do. I signed in to the computer system, which had been the most expensive part of opening the store, though it did save me the nightmare of doing things by hand.

The first screen came up and I got four options: New Sale, New Record, Reports, Record Look Up. I clicked on Record Look Up. That brought me to a screen with the choices Customer and Video. There I chose Customer. That brought up a screen with all of the same fields that came up when you entered a new customer. Except on this page you enter the last name or some portion of the last name. I typed in B-A-I-N. The first record that came up was for a woman named Tanya Bain. I hit Return and the next screen came up. That was BAIN, TED. His information immediately filled in, including his address, 648 N. Lafayette, and his phone number.

The counter phone was right next to me, so I’d dialed before I really thought things through.

“Hello?”

The moment Ted answered I realized something important; he probably didn’t know that Guy had been killed. I was going to have to be the one to tell him.

“Hello? Guy?”

“No. Um, Noah Valentine from the video store.”

“Oh. I was afraid of this. I can’t talk to you. You really need to stop being so damned nosey.”

“Guy is dead.”

“Yes, Guy is dead. I know that. He’s been dead for more than a week.”

“They found his body in dumpster behind the video store. You knew he didn’t die in the fire, that’s why you thought he was calling you.”

“I need to lie down.”

“Don’t go, not yet. The police know who you are.”

“What?! Oh my God!”

“Ted, tell me what’s going on. Why was Guy afraid of the police? Why are you afraid of the police?”

“I feel sick. Guy is really dead? This isn’t a trick?”

“Guy is really dead. Tell me what’s going on so I can help you.”

“I have to go. I have to find some place safe.”

“Do you have a friend you can stay with?”

“I think so. I have to go—”

“Call me tomorrow. Let me know you’re okay.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because, I think I just saved your life.”

* * *

When I walked into the courtyard, Marc was setting the table. “There you are! Go freshen up, we’re having company.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to intrude,” I said. “We can talk later. The police didn’t come by and search my—”

“Not yet. I’ve already set you a place. I want hear all about Guy Peterson’s second death.”

“Well, all right.”

“Good. Deborah and Rob are coming.”

I walked up the stairs wondering if I shouldn’t wait until later on to catch Marc and Louis up. Marc worked with Deborah at the studio. I’d met her before. I’d met them before. She was short and a little chunky with thick brown hair cut into boyish layers. He was vastly taller, pale, with nearly translucent skin. They were nice enough but as bland as unbuttered toast.

Upstairs, I threw on a chambray shirt, khaki shorts and a pair of Pumas. I struggled fruitlessly with my hair, and spritzed myself with Antaeus. I was about to go downstairs when the phone rang. I picked up.

“Weren’t you going to call me?”

“I’m sorry, Mom, there’s a lot going on.”

“Really? Tell me.”

Goddammit, I thought, I didn’t actually want to tell her what was going on. ‘Gee, Mom, the police think I’m a murderer’ wasn’t something you told your mother on—

“Oh my God, it’s Mother’s Day, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“I should have sent you flowers.”

“Oh, now, you’re a busy young man, I’m sure you were doing something else equally important.”

“Well, I wish I’d taken the time to do it.”

“So, is the city recovering from the riots? You know people here are still talking about it.”

“Are they?”

“They don’t understand how people could just destroy their own neighborhoods.”

“It’s anger. And I’m glad your friends don’t understand it. People shouldn’t understand that kind of anger.”

“Well, that’s an interesting way to look at it. I’ll have to think about that.” She seemed a little annoyed that I might be disagreeing with her. “Now, I know you don’t want to talk about this, but have you met any nice young men?”

“You’re right. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Have you thought about going to church?” she asked. “Patty Baird down the street told me her son, you remember him, Donald? Well Donald goes to a church in San Francisco that accepts gays. So you must have something like that in Los Angeles. Seriously, we’re all sinners, so I don’t know why some people get so upset about who’s committing which sin. Or a club! You could join a club.”

“Speaking of which, how’s the garden club?” I asked, my usual way of distracting her. She could talk for hours about the garden club; its politics were as cutthroat and ruthless as Washington’s. Every time I talked to her about it I was surprised that anything got planted at all. Or weeded. Or watered.

After I’d let her go on for a few minutes, I interrupted and said, “I need to go, Mom. I’m having Sunday dinner with my neighbors.”

“The boys downstairs, I take it. You spend too much time with them. You’ll never meet anyone hanging around a couple.”

“Yes, Mom. I’ll talk to you next week.”

Before I could forget, I dialed 411 and asked the operator for the number of The Flower Children, the florist near Sunset and Silver Lake Boulevards. For an extra twenty-five cents she connected me. Already in their computer, I ordered the same arrangement they’d sent my mother last year and paid extra for it to arrive by Tuesday.

A minute or two after I hung up, I stuck my head into Marc and Louis’ apartment, which was like mine though they’d done a better job decorating. Their living room had four comfortable chairs in a conversational square, a café table in the dining area, and not much else besides a stereo. There was a TV and VCR in the bedroom, but I don’t think they ever used it.

I said “Hello?”

Marc came out of the kitchen with a glass of white wine saying, “There you are! I poured this for you ages ago.”

Louis came out wearing an apron that had a picture of a bodybuilder’s body on it. “Marc tells me they found Guy Peterson’s body. Again.”

“In the dumpster behind Pinx.”

“They returned him like an overdue video.”

“Oh, Louis.”

“What about Mr. Crispy, have they figured out who he was?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“The photographs are in the bedroom closet, and we wiped down all your windows and doors,” Marc said.

“You might want to touch everything so it doesn’t look like we did that,” suggested Louis.

“How was Guy killed?” Marc asked.

“Gunshot. Or at least it looked like a gunshot from a distance. And the police asked Mikey if I had a gun.”

“They think you did it?”

“Of course they do,” Louis said. “Why else are you and I hiding and destroying evidence?”

“Noah didn’t kill anyone so it’s not evidence of anything.”

“Tell that to the police.”

“Are you sure you want me here for Sunday dinner? I mean, I don’t want to dominate the conversation.”

“You’re fine,” Louis said. “Some conversations deserve to be dominated.”

“Yoo-hoo, hello?”

“Speak of the devil,” Louis said.

We filed out of the apartment to meet them and I immediately saw that it was Deborah, Rob and someone else. A young man of around twenty-four, even taller than Rob, with a very prominent Adam’s apple and a chin that must have gone into the witness protection program. I scolded myself for judging him solely on his looks. He did have pretty eyes, though not pretty enough to make up for the sinking feeling I was getting in my stomach.

“Louis, Marc, No-ah,” Deborah said. “This is my brother, Jamie. He’s visiting from St. Louis but thinking of moving to California, so let’s put our best foot forward.”

“I don’t have a best foot. My feet are always misbehaving,” Louis said. Deborah slapped him lightly on the upper arm, then everyone said hello and Marc ran off to get drinks. Louis followed to check on dinner, Deborah and Rob trailed after him pointedly leaving me alone with Jamie.

We smiled uncomfortably at each other until he said, “Deborah says you own a video store.”

“I do.”

“I’d love to see it.”

“Um, well, it’s closed right now.”

“On a Sunday? Really? In St. Louis video stores are open seven days a week.”

“Yes, well, we found a dead body this morning in the dumpster behind the building.”

“Oh my God,” he said. “Did you know this person?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I did know him. But we weren’t close.”

“Still. Who do they think did it?”

“Well, me at the moment. I’m hoping they’ll get over that.”

Deborah and Rob came out of the apartment holding large glasses of chilled white wine. “Louis kicked us out of his kitchen,” Rob said, trying something that was almost a smile.

“How are you two getting along?” Deborah asked, sipping her wine. I was right; it was a fix-up. But hopefully I’d just put the quash on that.

“Noah is a murder suspect,” Jamie said with some obvious delight.

Deborah nearly spit her wine out. “Oh, he is not. Noah would never kill someone.”

Why she’d think that, I had no idea. We’d probably spent a total of ten hours together spread over a year and a half. I’m sure I was polite, but that’s no reason to think me incapable of murder.

“I didn’t say he was a killer. I said he was a suspect.” Then he turned to me and said, “Of course I might be wrong. Did you kill him, Noah?”

“That’s a tricky question,” I said. “If I were a killer I’d lie and say I wasn’t. Which is the same answer I’d give if I weren’t a killer. So how can you be sure?”

“If they had any proof, you’d be in jail right now,” Deborah said.

“We found the body about four hours ago.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, realizing I could very well be a murderer.

Louis came out with a platter of cheese and crackers. “Here’s a little something so no one starves to death.” He set the big dish on the table and said, “Sit, sit. Has Noah been telling you he’s public enemy number one?”

“You shouldn’t joke, Louis,” Deborah admonished him, as we took seats. Jamie sat next to me, smiling at me as he did. Oh God, I thought. A dead body and a blind date on the same day. It was giving me a headache. Or had my hangover not gone away?

“So?” Marc said, looking at me. “What don’t we know?”

“Someone killed Guy Peterson and threw him in the dumpster behind Pinx.”

“So, it’s someone who knows you knew Guy. I mean, you don’t think it’s random that they picked your dumpster, do you?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“So, who knows that you know Guy?”

“Well, I think pretty much everyone we suspected the first time Guy died.”

“The first time?” Deborah asked. “People don’t die more than once.”

“He owned a camera shop which burned during the riots and there was a body inside—”

“Mr. Crispy.”

“Louis’ pet name for the corpse,” Marc explained. “Anyway, everyone thought he was Guy Peterson.”

“Guy’s father identified the body,” I added.

“Can you even do that?” Deborah asked. “If the body’s been burned?”

“Sure,” Rob said. “Tattoos, scars, general appearance. And bodies aren’t always completely burned. It’s often partial.” I had no idea what Rob did for a living or why he might know those things.

“Obviously, whoever killed Mr. Crispy killed Guy Peterson,” Louis said.

“Why is that obvious?” Marc asked. “Maybe Guy killed Mr. Crispy and that’s why he got killed.”

“Or maybe Guy’s death had nothing to do with Mr. Crispy?” I said.

“Maybe we should talk about something else,” Deborah said. “Dead people make for terrible dinner conversation.”

Actually, I didn’t mind a change of subject. I turned to Jamie and asked, “How do you like St. Louis?”

“Living there is like being in a persistent vegetative state.”

Comas were a step up from death, but they made for terrible dinner conversation, too.

Deborah spent several minutes insisting that St. Louis was a wonderful city and she’d move back in a minute if it weren’t for Rob’s work.

“What do you do, Rob?” I asked.

“I work for the Arboretum.”

“Oh, they don’t have plants in St. Louis?”

“Not these plants,” he said.

“Rob’s an expert on yuccas,” Deborah said proudly.

I resisted the temptation to say, ‘Yuck.’ It wasn’t easy.

Then, thankfully, it was time for dinner. Louis had made a delicious leg of lamb that he served with scalloped potatoes and homemade mint jelly. Dessert was a coconut cream pie from a bakery somewhere on the East Side that he steadfastly refused to reveal.

During dinner Deborah and Rob talked about their fears about buying a home. Rob wanted to, but Deborah was sure that prices would fall further. He said that wouldn’t matter if they stayed in the house for ten years, but she just couldn’t imagine staying for more than five due to their imaginary and as yet unconceived children.

Before desert I excused myself and went upstairs to use the bathroom. I’d only eaten a little at dinner, but I drank too much wine, which, after the day before, was a terrible idea. I spent some much needed time in the bathroom, washed my hands and face. I looked mournfully at my hair, which resembled a bunch of chocolate kisses doing a conga line, and was about to go back downstairs when I realized I could hear a conversation floating up from the living room directly below me.

“I thought you said he was a nice guy,” Deborah said.

“He is a nice guy,” Marc replied.

“A nice guy who’s a murder suspect.”

“I wouldn’t take that seriously.”

“You said his lover died. Do you know how?”

“I don’t know the exact circumstances. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“So there could be a pattern?”

“Oh my God, Deborah! You’re being ridiculous.”

“We’re talking about my brother. I just want Jamie to be safe.”

“I promise, Noah will not kill your brother. Okay?”

“I don’t think he’s a murderer but…”

“But? That’s not the kind of sentence you end with a but.”

“Innocent people don’t get involved with murder. I don’t want to see my brother corrupted.”

“Did I miss something? Is your brother a virgin in a Harlequin novel?”

“Marc! I’m being serious and you’re making fun of me.”

“Look, it’s really not up to you. Or me. Or anyone except the two of them. And, in case you’re not paying attention, they don’t seem to be hitting it off.”

“What do you mean? You don’t think Noah likes Jamie?”

“I don’t think he likes him in the way you’re worried about.”

“He’d be lucky to go out with Jamie.”

“You don’t want them to go out, remember?”

“But I don’t want my brother to be rejected.”

I’d had enough. I needed to go back downstairs and quickly think of an excuse to leave. An emergency at the video store? I wondered. But we didn’t really have emergencies at Pinx. And besides, I already told everyone we’d closed for the day.

I got back downstairs and found Jamie alone at the table. Marc and Deborah were still in the house, I could almost hear them continuing to argue. Rob was giving Louis a lecture on a couple of succulents at the far end of the courtyard.

“I’m sorry,” Jamie said. “I didn’t know she was going to do this. I mean, she mentioned you. And that it would be nice if we met. I just, I know this is a bad time.”

“It’s not the worst thing that’s happened to me recently.”

“You know they’re in there fighting about us,” he said.

“I know. Please don’t take any of this personally. I’m not really—”

“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning forward. “I’m not the white picket fence kind of guy my sister wants me to be.”

“Ah.”

He lowered his voice and asked, “Do you know where the sex clubs are?”

I almost laughed. “Well, there’s one a couple blocks that way and two or three just north of here on Sunset. The best thing to do is pick up a copy of Frontiers. Look at the ads in the back.”

“And where do I get that?”

“Any gay business.” As soon as I said I realized an out-of-towner might not recognize a gay business when he saw one. “A Different Light. Bookstore. It’s on Santa Monica, near San Vincente, I think.”

“Oh, do they have porn? You know, like Mandate, Honcho, Inches. I can get Playgirl in Saint Louis, but it’s so boring.”

“Circus of Books is better for that. There’s one just down the street from A Different Light. And there’s one over here on Sunset. They’re both pretty cruisy.”

“Oh, perfect.”

One of the nice things about being an Angelino was helping tourists. Actually, Jamie seemed like a nice kid and I had a moment of guilt about judging a man by his chin.