“If the choice is working with Harry, or letting a maniac run free, I’m not sure which is the worse of the two.”

“Call him.”

“Maybe I can dress up as a man and do it myself. I can paint on a mustache with mascara.”

“Call him.”

“Ah, hell.”

I needed to dial directory assistance to get McGlade’s number. As his phone rang, I silently hoped he wouldn’t pick up.

“This is Harry McGlade, World’s Greatest Private Detective, featured in the television movie Fatal Autonomy. Talk to me.”

I swallowed a gallon of pride. “Harry, it’s Jack.”

“Jackie! Calling to give me good news about my license?”

“Sort of. I need a favor.”

“Consider it done, sugar. I had no idea you wanted to ride the Harry Rocket, but I’m more than happy to give you a taste. I usually like them younger, though.”

“Even if you tied me down, McGlade, I’d chew off my own arms to get away. I need you to run the mole ploy for me.”

“Gimme details.”

I filled Harry in, lowering my voice when a pair of cops walked past.

“And if I help you out with the stiff-sticker, you’ll get me my license back?”

“You have my word.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour, ready to be wired. See you soon.”

Harry hung up. Herb gave me a pat on the shoulder.

“It’s for the greater good, Jack.”

I took a deep breath and rubbed my temples.

“That’s what Oppenheimer said.”

“Want to help me tape on the wire?”

McGlade waggled his eyebrows at me. He’d unbuttoned his shirt, exposing a flabby chest completely carpeted with curly brown hair. It was like looking at a gorilla, if the gorilla used Rogaine.

“Is it a full moon?” Herb asked.

“Could be,” McGlade answered. “Does the full moon turn you into a fat pig?”

Herb narrowed his eyes. Harry had a wonderful way of immediately getting on a person’s bad side.

“Don’t get angry, Porky.” Harry grinned. “It’s just a joke.”

Herb folded his arms. “For your information, I just lost ten pounds.”

“You didn’t lose them – they’re hiding in your ass.”

I stepped between them and used some tape to attach the lavaliere microphone to Harry’s chest. More tape than necessary.

“You’re so gentle, Jackie. You’re turning me on.”

Harry put his hand on my hip, and I pinched his nipple hard enough to draw milk. He yelped and dropped his hand.

Herb shook his head in disbelief; Harry got that reaction a lot. “You were right, Jack. He’s an idiot.”

“Herb,” I warned.

“A fourteen-karat, card-carrying idiot. How did you survive all those years with him as a partner?”

“Why are you in such a bad mood?” Harry asked. “Your local grocery store run out of Sara Lee?”

Benedict pointed a finger in McGlade’s face. “You make one more fat joke…”

“And you’ll do what? Eat me?”

Benedict got in McGlade’s face, and I had to pull him away.

“Can you both please act like professionals?”

“Careful, Jackie, when he’s done with me he may still be hungry.”

Benedict grabbed a fistful of Harry’s chest hair and yanked out a patch. McGlade screamed, then went for his shoulder holster.

“Sit!” I ordered Harry. “And back off, Herb.”

Harry glowered at Herb, then sat back down. Benedict rolled his eyes and walked over to the other side of the room, giving Harry his back.

“Here’s the deal, McGlade. We know Rushlo’s got an accomplice, and we believe it’s a cop. We need a name.”

“No problem.”

“You have to play it cool in there, try to get him to open up. You’ve read the file.”

“Yeah. He’s a mortician, and he likes his sex partners at room temperature. I’ll get the info, Jackie. I’m good at this.”

Benedict chortled.

“You may scoff, Detective Butterball, but I’ve worked undercover many times before. In fact, I’m a master of disguise. Guess who I am now.”

Benedict took the bait and looked. Harry crossed his eyes and scrunched his neck down, giving himself a big double chin.

“I lost ten pounds on the donut diet,” Harry grunted.

Herb made a fist, looked at me, and then excused himself from the room.

“The guy’s got no sense of humor, Jackie. He probably eats to compensate for an inadequate sex life.”

“I don’t think that’s Herb’s problem. Let’s get a level.”

I turned on the receiver, a black box the size of a car radio, and adjusted the volume. The room filled with the squelch of feedback.

“Take a few steps back, McGlade, and say something.”

McGlade walked near the door, singing about his lovely bunch of coconuts. He came in clear, lousy voice aside.

“The desk sergeant is going to put you in the holding tank. I want Rushlo to give up a name, but any other info you get out of him, I’ll be recording. You know what he looks like?”

“I saw the mugs. He looks like a toad with a Lincoln beard.”

“Probably not wise to use that as your opening line. What’s your approach going to be?”

Harry grinned, his smile as wide as a zebra’s hindquarters. “Trust me.”

I had a sudden need for an antacid.

I put the bracelets on Harry and led him to the holding area. After signing him in, I took off the cuffs and let the desk sergeant escort him to his cell.

When I returned to the office we’d appropriated, Herb was already there, signing a piece of paper. It was the authorization to give a prisoner a full body-cavity search. McGlade’s name was on the top. I took the paper and crumpled it up.

“Herb, you’re being childish.”

“Yeah. He’d probably just enjoy it anyway.”

The radio made a clanging sound. Cell door closing. I hit the Record button.

Footsteps. White noise. Shuffling.

“Hey man, got any smokes?” Harry’s voice.

“No. Sorry.” Rushlo.

“I don’t believe this shit. I shouldn’t even be in here. She said she was sixteen, man. It was so worth the hassle, though. The younger the beaver, the softer the pelt, right? Right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

A grunt, perhaps McGlade sitting down.

“You guess? I can tell you like sex, just looking at you. You’ve got that vibe. I bet you’re a real lady-killer.”

Herb sighed and shook his head. “I know people who work at the zoo, Jack. We could have sent a trained monkey in there instead.”

I shushed him.

“Actually, I’m not very good with women.”

“You’re kidding, right? With a face like that, I bet you get laid all the time. When was the last piece of ass you tagged? Come on, don’t be shy. When was it? Last week? Yesterday?”

Seconds of silence went by.

“You’re not a virgin, are you?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. So when was the last time you got some?”

“This morning.”

“I knew it! I knew it the moment I saw you. I bet you like that kinky shit too. Little rope action, little spanky-spanky. Am I right?”

“Sort of.”

“Look at you, smiling like that. What’s your kink?”

“It’s… private.”

Hand-clapping sounds, and McGlade laughing.

“I bet it’s real private. I can see it in your eyes. Well, your one eye. Your other eye is all screwed up. I bet you have a hard time watching 3-D movies.”

Herb sighed again.

“So what’s your kink, man? Kids? Animals? Getting pooped on?”

“Nothing like that.”

“Tell me.”

“I don’t really talk about it.”

“Got it. Secret stuff. I’m cool with that. What’s you’re name, man?”

“Derrick.”

“Hi, Derrick. My name’s Barnum. Call me P.T.”

“Unbelievable,” Herb said.

“What do you do, Derrick?”

“I own a funeral home.”

“Funeral home, huh? How’s business?”

“Business is dying.”

They both chuckled. Herb and I managed to restrain ourselves.