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it. She made a note to reread the autopsy report to see if his injuries were consistent with those that Seton described.
    When morning came, and the alarm went off, Lee attempted to slap it and failed. And that was because she had placed it on top of the dresser rather than on her nightstand. The sound was loud enough to penetrate the pillow she had pulled over her head.
    So after half a minute of nonstop beeping, she got up, turned the alarm off, and padded into the bathroom. She emerged fifteen minutes later, feeling refreshed and curious. Was a message from Popeye waiting for her?
    Lee found the tablet sitting next to the Smith & Wesson. She pushed the power button and went looking for clean clothes. That wasn’t easy because her laundry was piling up.
    Once she was dressed, Lee went online and checked the “bait box.” There it was: “I have the following items to sell,” the e-mail said, followed by a list of parts. The message was from a person named, “Henry Peters.”
    Lee brought up a copy of the message Cherko had sent to Mr. Fuentes and read it. The two e-mails were virtually identical. The only difference being Gary’s name and that of the sender. “Peter Henry” rather than “Henry Peters.”
    Lee uttered a whoop of joy and sent her response along with a blind copy to Jenkins. Then it was a mad rush to get in the car and drive downtown. Jenkins had offered to give her some help, and she was going to accept it.
    *   *   *
    Popeye was extremely tired and had been for days. But he couldn’t sleep. The primary reason for that was a substance called speed, clavo, ice, glass, jib, crank, tweak, and half a dozen more. All of which were slang terms for methamphetamine or meth. It was a highly addictive drug, which, in spite of all the efforts by law-enforcement personnel, was still available throughout the nation of Pacifica.
    Taken in low doses, meth could increase concentration and boost the user’s energy level. That was the good news. The bad news was that people who were addicted to crank were subject to headaches, heart irregularities, elevated body temperature, diarrhea, constipation, blurred vision, dizziness, twitching, numbness, and insomnia. Which was why Popeye hadn’t been able to sleep.
    Black plastic had been taped to the windows in order to keep the room dark, but daylight still found its way in through tiny holes and projected gold dots onto the wall to his right. Popeye looked to see if Gina was awake and saw that she wasn’t. How old was she anyway? Fifteen? Something like that. She looked even younger in her tee shirt and pink panties.
    But regardless of that, Popeye knew that the teenager would wake up hungry. Not for Cheerios, but for clavo, which she would proceed to shoot up. And it was his job to go get it. That required going into the world that lay beyond the black plastic. A place where, according to Honest Al Nuri, a pig bitch was looking for him.
Well fuck her,
Popeye thought to himself as he crawled off the mattress.
I have some medicine for that disease.
    Popeye was careful to slip his feet into some flip-flops before beginning the journey to the bathroom. The floor was covered with pieces of cast-off clothing, drug paraphernalia, and rat droppings. They would move soon and leave the garbage behind.
    Popeye flipped the lights on as he entered the bathroom and turned to examine himself in the mirror. His eyes were red, there were open sores on his cheeks, and when he opened his mouth, it was like looking into a black hole. Like so many meth addicts, Popeye had a condition known as “meth mouth.” About a third of his teeth were missing, and the rest were in bad condition. According to the dentist he’d seen the year before, the problems were the result of dry mouth, poor oral hygiene, and the consumption of too many carbonated beverages.
Fuck him,
Popeye thought to himself as he lit his pipe and took