Roachkiller and Other Stories by R. Narvaez

was shooting at vampires, and they were going down like ducks in a carnival game. And Mildred was there, holding a huge stuffed Doberman that he won for her. He was going to ask her why she, why everybody was lying to him. But then he slipped into a black pool of unconsciousness.
    He was back at the office the next day. He was in his cubicle when he got a call that he had a visitor.
    Anya was waiting in the reception room. She was carrying a large, covered frame.
    “I have to talk to you about Danny. And Lime,” she said.
    “Sure, yeah, come to my—let’s go to the conference room,” he said.
    Before she sat down, she put the frame on the table, and then she slowly untied the covering. “Can you help me with this?”
    He went to hold the frame steady. Pain stabbed him in the shoulder. “Ow,” he said loudly.
    “What happened to you?” she said.
    “Jai alai.”
    “Oh, that’s a great game.”
    She pulled the covering off. It was a black-and-white portrait of Danny Cortez. He had a big toothy smile, and there was a brightness in his eyes. His tag, “GhostD,” was written in Danny’s tag style in the space behind him.
    “I knew Danny,” she said. “I brought this for his parents. He was a nice kid. I hate what happened to him.”
    “Yeah, he was in the wrong place, I guess.”
    “I brought this, too,” she said, pulling out the cigar box and the drawing book. “Listen, I don’t think he was just mugged. I think I know what happened to him.”
     
    *  *  *
     
    Vega and Lester Reid sat in a car parked down the block from the Spore warehouse. On Vega’s lap was the cigar box with Danny’s tag on it.
    “So the money was legit?” Reid said.
    “Well, illegitimately legit. Or maybe the other way around. Numbers money that Jesus and Cookie saved up.”
    “It would be too easy if the ten grand were still in here.”
    “Too easy,” Vega said. He opened the box. “But what we do have is stickers, rolling papers, a lighter, and poetry.”
    “Poetry!”
    “Love poetry.” Vega thumbed through them for the seventeenth time. “Written by Danny. But not to Lissette.”
    “The girl who was doing the stepfather?”
    “Right. I thought the kid was with Lissette, and that’s what made him angry enough to leave home and swipe the cash.”
    “Aha.”
    Vega watched the street with a pair of binoculars. “His mother was right when she said he left home because of a girl. But it wasn’t the girl she was thinking of.”
    “So he was doing the artist’s girlfriend?”
    “Well, Anya, the artist’s girlfriend, says no. She says it was sort of a mutual crush that neither of them acted on. He wanted to be an artist, too. And here was this beautiful artist working and living nearby. Teenagers have skipped home for less.”
    “And jealousy is a great motive for murder,” Reid said.
    “That’s what we’re here to figure out, Mr. Reid.”
    “And how do we get in, Mr. Vega?”
    Vega pulled out a set of keys that had a piece of masking tape on them. Written in magic marker on the tape was “The Spare.”
    “A gift from Anya.”
    They got out of the car and walked to the building.
     
    *  *  *
     
    It was dim and chilly inside the warehouse, now stripped of light or sound. Orange opened the door with a large scratching noise. He entered pushing a shopping cart piled high with metal parts. He wore an old blue parka and a Space Invaders T-shirt. As he moved inside, Reid walked behind him and shut the door.
    “What the fuck?” Orange said. It took him a moment to focus. “Who the fuck are you?”
    “This is about Danny Cortez.”
    “Are you a cop?”
    “You wish. You knew Danny Cortez?”
    “I want to see ID.”
    “And I want to see the ten thousand dollars you took from Danny Cortez.”
    “Ten thousand!”
    “That money belongs to a man named Antonio.”
    “Who the fuck are you? I’m going to call the cops.”
    Reid stood between Orange and the door. “Go ahead. But first, tell me about the