We were getting ready to pack it in. I still couldn't figure it. Why was Condolezza running around with those roadies under Afteh Whoom's benevolent protection. Who WERE those guys? Why was she hobnobbing with a PepsiCo PR operative like Anita Lyphee? And what was Theet Logos doing in a stretch limo? He hadn't cut a disk since they ran out of medium-play master platters. It sure wasn't new found wealth. O'Bannion hadn't had a clue on that front.

I dropped into the phone booth at the front of the Zephyr and called the Keg 'n' Cork. Billy answered.

"Hey, Mister Madison! How ya been!!! Ya looking for Lucky? Hey, you need to take it easy here, ya know? Can't have you luring away the best thing that ever happened to the K'n'C!! Ha Hahh Haaa!!! Ya know??? Hahaha!! Say, lemme tell her to call ya back, wouldja? She's over talking to that banjo playing guy with the bottomless leg, the Heiniken drinker. Yeah, I'll tell her. So long, now, Mister Madison!! Don't take any wooden capos!!! Hahhaaahahaha!! Ya know what I mean???"

I hung up and drove across town to the K&C. I ordered a gingerale at the end of the bar from Billy, then carried it over to where Lucky was sitting with Theet Logos. He looked tired, and distraught, like someone had left his face out in the rain.

"Mind if I join you?" I asked pleasantly.

"Oh, Blake!! I am so glad to see you!!!" she smiled. Y'know -- she looked like she meant it, too. I paused, waiting for her to add to the remarks, but the run wa sover for now. She introduced me to Theet. I sat down across from him, sliding past Lucky who was perched on the end of the booth table.

I decided not to be coy. This guy had walked around the block a few times.

"What were you doing leaving the precinct house in a stretch limo, Theet?" I asked, boring into his tired skull with my gimlet look.

He didn't mind straight talk. He didn't mind dealing it out, either.

"I never could make aliving playing the banjo," he said evenly. "So when I got out of the Navy patrol boat business, and needed to enhance my cashflow, I started a little business dealing ion folk music recordings. There was always enough hangers-on left over from the Limelighter days that I could keep it going, and lately it was even starting to pick up some, make a couple of decent years. Aesthete Productions. Well, I gotta call in my room at the Motel Six this morning from the cops saying I had to go down and explain how my hunting knife got into poor Ned. They said it had marks on the handle that coudl only have been made by fingerpicks. I told them I'd come by, aroiund 10:00 or so, and I was just getting ready to shave when the phone rang again and it was some motormouthed dame worked for the PepsiCo company, said she HAD to see me on a matter of great importance tot he environment, and my business, and so on. So I told her I'd be at the precinct and she said she'd pick me up. That was her limo you saw."

"Anita Lyphee?"

"Yeah. She wanted to buy my business and use it to promote folk songs. I said, gimme a break, lady. The nearest thing to a folk song PepsiCo ever bought was Ray Charles. But she said, no this was serious. Important for the future of the environment, too. Said PepsiCo wasa going to take a major stand on environmental issues, and they thought Aesthete would be one of the key pieces. So they figgered to offer me 6 figures for it. I never had six figures, see. Well, my fourth wife had a double.... an' if you count my daughter, well, she's got one of her own.... so maybe that counts.... but not money..."

He was nodding off and I counted the Heinekin bottles. Six figures indeed. I nodded to Lucky and we helped Logos across the room into Billy's office. He keeps an army cot set up in the back, in between the unopened cases and clenaing supplies. Handy sometimes. We tucked him in, and Lucky gave him a little smooch on the head, and we went back out to the bar. We had some talking to do, and Lucky was still in Billy's 'kidgloves' book, so she took the afternoon off. We jsut walked down the streets together, comparing notes.

It felt a lot better than talking to the Irish detective. Lots better.