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man if it meant he would have something to do aside from drinking himself to oblivion each night before waking up in time to stumble into his car and go to work again? He couldn’t deny he was curious to see what Javier was up to. Not surprisingly, he was more curious to talk to Kathy. He blamed the beer.
    “OK, I’ll do it,” Pete said. “I can do some basic research through the paper, but I’m not going to break the rules and get fired over this.”
    “That’s fine. I understand. Thank you.”
    “Do you have keys to her apartment? I’ll need to look around her place to see what’s up. Get a better idea as to whether she left recently or what.”
    “Yeah, sure,” Chaz didn’t hesitate, and rummaged through his front pocket before handing Pete a set of keys. He knew I would say yes, Pete thought. “I can’t guarantee they’ll work, though. She’s been known to change the locks—on me, ex-boyfriends, whatever.”
    Pete shrugged.
    “She lives around Little Haiti—small place off Biscayne.” That was relatively close to his apartment, he realized.
    Pete nodded before taking his latest swig. He was past the point of being drunk and was now coasting toward being just plain fucked up. Still, he was enjoying the misleading moments before pure drunkenness struck. He would be of no more use to this guy tonight.
    “I can pay you—a little bit. Obviously, I’m not flush. I’m just not sure what this kind of thing costs,” Chaz said, reaching for his wallet. It was now half past three in the morning.
    Pete waved him off. “Put your money away, man.” He said, leaning on the wall now. Pete’s legs hung loosely around his barstool, his left hand still gripping the goblet-like glass. He’d barely touched his new beer. It felt like the previous ones were hitting now, all together. He wondered if he’d had five or four. The stereo had shifted to Modest Mouse. Was it “Float On”? Pete wasn’t sure. Emily loved that song.
    “Let me find Kathy,” Pete blurted out. “Then we’ll worry about money.”
    “I can’t explain how much this means,” Chaz looked close to tears. That was the last thing Pete needed tonight. A grown man sobbing at the bar.
    Pete felt his vision begin to blur. His stomach churned. Hungry, or about to get sick? He had to slow down. Night shift or not, there was work to be done tomorrow; Pete mumbled something in response to Chaz but wasn’t sure what. Something about not worrying about the tab. Chaz slipped him his business card, his number and address on it.
    Pete looked over at Nick, who was staring up at the television. There’d been another gang-related murder near the beach. The country was at war. The Marlins were playing the Dodgers. Pete was reminded of the West Coast scores. Chaz left. Pete leaned his head back and let his eyes close.

Chapter Four
    P ete felt something grab and shake his shoulder. His eyelids were heavy. He could still taste the alcohol and he had a bitter, bile taste creeping up in his throat. Had he thrown up? He gave himself a quick once-over and determined he hadn’t. He turned his head slowly and saw Mike standing beside him. Pete was still at the Abbey. He’d been leaning on the wall. He was used to this scenario: Mike comes to collect Pete after a bender leaves him splayed out somewhere, usually at a bar. Mike had a list of places to check. The Abbey was not far from the top.
    “You alive, man?” Mike was half-joking. Pete could tell this routine was getting tiresome for him. He was starting to worry. Pete hated this.
    “Barely,” Pete coughed, and then straightened out his shirt. Nick the bartender met Pete’s eyes briefly, and then he returned to cleaning. The bar was closed. It had to be past five.
    “Nick said he’d let you sleep it off, but he’s gotta close up,” Mike said. “You want a ride home? We can pick up your car tomorrow.”
    Pete let his head hang down for a second. Mike was like a brother. They’d been in the trenches