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she spells it. But the man says that’s how she pronounced it. He remembers because he was very interested. So interested he wrote it down. It seems your client didn’t lose his entire memory. According to the guy at the tattoo shop, she’s a real dish. A regular rare-earth man magnet,” says Herman.
    “Lucky for us she made an impression,” I tell him. “Otherwise you might be looking forever.”
    “Makes sense,” says Herman. “They needed something to attract Ives. What better bait?”
    “Does he have an address for her? This man at the shop?”
    “No.”
    “Damn!”
    “But he got her cell number.”
    My eyes light up. “Good man!”
    “And a good part of her life story,” says Herman. “Seems that dragon on her leg is pretty good-sized, from just above her knee to the sweet spot on the inside of her thigh. The little dimple,” says Herman.
    “Sounds like you had a very detailed discussion with this man.”
    “And he got pictures.” Herman allows this to settle in.
    “Of her face?”
    “Among other things,” he says. “They had a long time to talk while she was on the table and he was doing his art. Says she’s an Indonesian national. Came here on a student visa to study computer science at the local C.C.” Herman means the two-year community college. “That was eight years ago.”
    “She’s overstayed her visa,” I say.
    “Unless they offer advanced degrees in digital rocket science,” says Herman, “she’s in the country illegally. Could give us some leverage.”
    “Or turn her into a rabbit,” I tell him.
    “According to what she told the man at the shop she was working at a private club out near the beach.”
    “What club?”
    “He gave me the name and address, but he says you won’t find it in the phone book or on the net. It’s in a commercial building near the pier. From what he was saying, it sounded like one of those places wouldn’t pass muster with the health department.”
    “Why is that?”
    “Where the female help cleans the tables with their bare behinds after you eat. Businessman’s lunch,” says Herman.
    “When’s the last time he saw her?” I ask.
    “He did the dragon in two sessions. Last one was three weeks ago. She may still be working there. I paid him a few bucks and he e-mailed two of the pictures he took. I’m sending them to you soon as I hang up. The guy got a couple of very good ones.”
    “I don’t need any thigh shots,” I tell him.
    “How do you know until you look?” says Herman. He laughs. “A clear, crisp head-and-shoulder close-up, and one a little farther out. She’s wearing a robe from the shop. Do me a favor and forward them on to your client. Give him a call and make sure it’s her before we get too excited.”
    “Will do,” I tell him.
    “In the meantime, let me see if I can find this club, see if she’s still working there. If we get lucky maybe vice hasn’t closed it down yet.”
    “If you strike out there, try her cell phone records. See if they have a home address.”
    “That’s always sketchy,” says Herman. “The way young folk move around. She’s had more than enough time to blow through a two-year contract with the carrier, and if she’s nervous about anything . . .”
    “You mean like being in the country illegally,” I say.
    “That and who knows what else,” says Herman, “then there’s a good chance she’s probably prepaid. I long for the days of the old landline,” he says, “when people were nailed to the ground if they wanted modern conveniences. This keeps up, pretty soon they’ll be able to take a digital dump long distance online. Then you’ll never be able to catch ’em at home.”
    “Send me those pictures,” I tell him. “And call me as soon as you find this place. That is, if she’s still working there. And do me a favor, Herman, don’t talk to her, not yet. Just locate her and call me. I don’t want to scare her off until we can nail her down.”
    “How you gonna do