It was an old stately Mexican joint that pre-dated the big influx of Korean immigrants in the sixties and seventies. It was a survivor from another phase of the neighborhood, a jellyfish swimming among dolphins. I had more time on my hands than I’d thought I would, and decided to settle in early. I chose a booth in the back corner of the restaurant. A waitress in a full flamenco skirt came by, and I asked her for a margarita. I wondered if I was wasting my time meeting Donnie. He’d insinuated that he might know something about the Tilley murder, but now that I was waiting for him, I started to doubt he had any solid information. I hoped I was wrong. I felt the screws tighten with Jamie’s arrest, and any lead was worth chasing down. Besides, I had to eat dinner sometime. Donnie arrived looking more put together than he had before. He wore pants and real shoes, and a short-sleeved button-down with a tank top underneath. His hat was gone, and I saw that his hair line was prematurely receding.
