By the time I bought I, the Jury, The Dragon's Teeth, and a "Steno pad" for notes, it was already 5 o'clock. I had to rush to get see Alexis Avet, the photographer, before meeting up with Charlie and Mark.

Unfortunately, her studio was on West 4th Street and I lost my way, so I didn't show up until after the sun dipped below the New Jersey skyline. The burgundy paint on the door to #245 was chipping away, revealing the steel beneath. The lock was broken, and I let myself in. The hallway was narrow and extended the length of the building, and each door was neatly labeled: "TELCO," "BOILER," "ARGENTUM PRIVATE INVESTIGATORS," and finally, "AVET PHOTOgraphers."

Her studio was bare, there was some furniture, chairs, and a plastic or granite office desk. A man sat with his back to me, bobbing his head, and tapping away at a Macintosh computer. I cleared my throat: "Excuse me." No answer. I walked over and tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped like a lapdog at the vet's office.

"Whoah, man. You scared me. What's up?"

"Sir, I'm looking for Alexis Avet."

"Far out."

He was disheveled, obviously stoned -- I could see I was making him nervous.

"She's not here," he said.

"Oh. Know where she is?"

"She's in our minds, man. Like, think about it. No one is ever gone if you remember them."

Mike Hammer wouldn't be jerked around. "Listen, buddy, I'm looking for Alexis Avet, and you're going to tell me where she is, see?" That got him scared.

"Whoah man, who are you?"

"Minkus . . . Private Eye."

"From across the hall?"

I paused, but he didn't read into it. "No, those two-bit phonies wouldn't know a clue if it jumped up and slapped 'em in the face." He flinched. I wish I smoked so I could have flicked a cigarette at him.

"Okay, man, I don't know where she is. She leaves sometimes. You know she's got that crazy trust fund. She does what she wants. I just work here man, I don't ask questions."

"If you see her, tell her to call me." I gave him my number on the back of the bookstore receipt. "What's your name, buddy?"

"Sunrise Montana, sir."

"Thanks, kid. . . . One more thing, what do you know about Dragon's Teeth?"

"Nothing. Nothing. Nothing about that, sorry, Minkus."

I had broken him down and it felt great. Until I looked at the wall clock and saw the time. I called Mara so she wouldn't worry that I'd be back late, and she totally bought it. Was I becoming a pathological liar?

The train was delayed going uptown to meet the guys, and I missed the stop, but at least I had a chance to read the first half of I, the Jury.

At the bar, Mark told me about the play, but couldn't remember a thing about the author, the production, or anything else. He left to talk to the blonde in the corner, so I talked to Charlie instead about the play.

I pulled it out and showed it to the him; he was impressed, and perhaps a bit frightened. I told him about Alexis and Miss Adams and showed him my detective pad. Charlie stopped me and said, "wait — she gave you her number? That means we have a guide! Mark was doubtful we would find one, but you sure showed him. Mark!"

I don't remember much else of the night, until we left. As I walked toward the exit, I saw Olive, or at least a person who matched the character's description in The Dragon's Teeth. She was alone at the bar, slender legs swinging around the stool, running up to a tight mini skirt that would rip if she tried to move too fast. I tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me, are you Olive?" She gave me a sly smile through ruby red lips and said, "No, this is," as she took the olive from her martini and put it in her mouth.

I said, "Well, sugar, you look like an Olive. Listen to this." I read her a passage from The Dragon's Teeth:

Olive's gams, smooth like milk but firm like meat, wandered up from the floor. You'd trace a line past her waist to her sparkling red, ruby red lipstick lips, and renew your faith in God. Her lips were always slightly parted, showing the beginning of a throaty laugh or sultry smile, and if you didn't know better, you'd say her neck glistened with pheremones from Olympus. Aphrodite—

Before I could go on, she put a finger to my mouth and said, "Stop — Look at me." When I looked up, she slapped me and turned back to her martini. I left, remembering that I wasn't a real detective.

---

When I got home, Mara wasn't there. I called. No answer. I went to the bedroom, took off my shoes, socks, and dress shirt, and read the letter again.