A 747 roared low overhead, its landing lights flaring in the fog. It passed the sputtering neon sign that read Girls! Girls! All Nude! Girls! It was around eleven-thirty when we went inside.

To call the Club Palomino a strip joint was to flatter it. It was a converted bowling alley with cactus and horses painted on the walls. It seemed smaller inside than it appeared from the outside. A woman in a silver tassled G-string who looked close to forty danced listlessly in orange light. She seemed as bored as the customers hunched over tiny pink tables. Topless waitresses moved through the smoky air. The tape-recorded music had a loud hiss.

A guy just inside the door said, “Twelve bucks. Two drink minimum.” Connor flipped his badge. The guy said, “Okay, fine.”

Connor looked around and said, “I didn’t know Japanese came here.” I saw three businessmen in blue suits, sitting at a corner table.

“Hardly ever,” the bouncer said. “They like the Star Strip downtown. More glitz, more tits. You ask me, those guys got lost from their tour.”

Connor nodded, “I’m looking for Ted Cole.”

“At the bar. Guy with the glasses.”

Ted Cole was sitting at the bar. His windbreaker covered his Nakamoto Security uniform. He stared at us dully when we came up and sat beside him.

The bartender came over. Connor said, “Two Buds.”

“No Bud. Asahi okay?”

“Okay.”

Connor flipped his badge. Cole shook his head and turned away from us. He looked studiously at the stripper.

“I don’t know anything.”

Connor said, “About what?”

“About anything. I’m just minding my own business. I’m off duty.” He was a little drunk.

Connor said, “When did you get off duty?”

“I got off early tonight.”

“Why is that?”

“Stomach trouble. I got an ulcer, it acts up sometimes. So I got off early.”

“What time?”

“I got off at eight-fifteen at the latest.”

“Do you punch a time clock?”

“No. We don’t do that. No time clock.”

“And who took over for you?”

“I got relieved.”

“By whom?”

“My supervisor.”

“Who is that?”

“I don’t know him. Japanese guy. Never seen him before.”

“He’s your supervisor, and you never saw him before?”

“New guy. Japanese. I don’t know him. What do you want from me, anyway?”

“Just to ask a few questions,” Connor said.

“I got nothing to hide,” Cole said.

One of the Japanese men sitting at the table came up to the bar. He stood near us and said to the bartender, “What kind of cigarettes you got?”

“Marlboro,” the bartender said.

“What else?”

“Maybe Kools. I have to check. But I know we got Marlboro. You want Marlboro?”

Ted Cole stared at the Japanese man. The Japanese seemed not to notice him as he stood at the bar. “Kent?” the Japanese said. “You got any Kent lights?”

“No. No Kent.”

“Okay then, Marlboro,” the Japanese man said. “Marlboro is okay.” He turned and smiled at us. “This is Marlboro country, right?”

“That’s right,” Connor said.

Cole picked up his beer and sipped it. We were all silent. The Japanese man beat the bar with his hands, in time to the music. “Great place,” he said. “Lot of atmosphere.”

I wondered what he was talking about. This place was a dump.

The Japanese slid onto the bar stool next to us. Cole studied his beer bottle as if he’d never seen one before. He turned it in his hands, making rings on the bar top.

The bartender brought cigarettes, and the Japanese man tossed a five-dollar bill on the table. “Keep the change.” He tore open the pack, and took out a cigarette. He smiled at us.

Connor took out his lighter to light the man’s cigarette. As the man leaned over the flame, he said, “Doko kaisha ittenno?”

The man blinked. “Sorry?”

“Wakannē no?” Connor said. “Doko kaisha ittenno?”

The man smiled, and slipped off the bar stool. “Soro soro ikanakutewa. Shitsurei shimasu.” He gave a little wave, and he went back to his friends across the room.

“Dewa mata,” Connor said. He moved around to sit on the stool where the Japanese man had been sitting.

Cole said, “What was that all about?”

“I just asked him what company he worked for,” Connor said. “But he didn’t want to talk. I guess he wanted to get back to his friends.” Connor ran his hands under the bar, feeling. “Feels clean.”

Connor turned back to Cole and said, “Now then, Mr. Cole. You were telling me that a supervisor took over for you. At what time was that?”

“Eight-fifteen.”

“And you didn’t know him?”

“No.”

“And before that time, while you were on duty, were you taping from the video cameras?”

“Sure. The security office always tapes from the cameras.”

“And did the supervisor remove the tapes?”

“Remove them? I don’t think so. The tapes are still there, as far as I know.”

He looked at us in a puzzled way.

“You fellows are interested in the tapes?”

“Yes,” Connor said.

“Because I never paid much attention to the tapes. I was interested in the cameras.”

“How’s that?”

“They were getting the building ready for the big party, and there were lots of last-minute details. But you still had to wonder why they pulled so many security cameras off other parts of the building and put them up on that floor.”

I said, “They what?”

“Those cameras weren’t on the forty-sixth floor yesterday morning,” Cole said. “They were scattered all around the building. Somebody moved them during the day. They’re easy to move, you know, because there’s no wires attached.”

“The cameras have no wires?”

“No. It’s all cellular transmission inside the building itself. Built that way. That’s why they don’t have audio: they can’t transmit full bandwidth on cellular. So they just send an image. But they can move those cameras around to suit their purposes. See whatever they want to see. You didn’t know that?”

“No,” I said.

“I’m surprised nobody told you. It’s one of the features of the building they’re most proud of.” Cole drank his beer. “Only question I have is why somebody would take five cameras and install them on the floor above the party. ‘Cause there’s no security reason. You can lock off the elevators above a certain floor. So for security, you’d want your cameras on the floors below the party. Not above.”

“But the elevators weren’t locked off.”

“No. I thought that was kind of unusual, myself.” He looked at the Japanese across the room. “I got to be going soon,” he said.

“Well,” Connor said. “You’ve been very helpful, Mr. Cole. We may want to question you again—“

“I’ll write down my phone number for you,” Cole said, scribbling on a bar napkin.

“And your address?”

“Yeah, right. But actually, I’m going out of town for a few days. My mother’s been feeling sick, and she asked me to take her down there to Mexico for a few days. Probably go this weekend.”

“Long trip?”

“Week or so. I got vacation days coming up, it seems like a good time to take it.”

“Sure,” Connor said. “I can see how it would. Thanks again for your help.” He shook hands with Cole, and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “And you take care of your health.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Stop drinking, and have a safe drive home.” He paused. “Or wherever you may decide to go tonight, instead.”

Cole nodded. “I think you’re right. That’s not a bad idea.”

“I know I’m right.”

Cole shook my hand. Connor was heading out the door. Cole said, “I don’t know why you guys are bothering.”

“With the tapes?”

“With the Japanese. What can you do? They’re ahead of us every step of the way. And they have the big guys in their pocket. We can’t beat ‘em now. You two guys’ll never beat ‘em. They’re just too good.”