Woman with a Blue Pencil by Gordon McAlpine

and move on with his life, accepting that most crimes are never solved . That’s when Sam had emptied his bank account to hire the first of a string of equally ineffective PIs. He hadn’t seen Czernicek again.
    Until today.
    And now they were lunching together. Funny . . .
    Funnier yet was that Czernicek was the only acquaintance Sumida had in the world. Ha-ha.
    â€œGet the pastrami,” Czernicek said, after they’d taken seats at the booth farthest from the counter, cash register, and crowd.
    The waitress, a nineteen or twenty-year-old looker in a hairnet and mustard-stained uniform, followed on their heels, stopping at their booth with one fist placed coquettishly against her hip. “Sorry, but we don’t serve Japs.”
    Sumida looked away.
    â€œThis man’s name is Chan,” Czernicek said. “He’s Chinese.”
    She looked doubtful.
    Czernicek removed his badge from his suit jacket pocket and showed it to her. “You can trust me, little flower.”
    â€œOh, well that’s okay then.” She removed her order pad from a big pocket on her uniform and a pencil from within her nest of blonde hair. “What can I get for you and your friend , Officer?”
    â€œMy friend’s first name is Charlie,” Czernicek said.
    It took the waitress a moment to make the connection. “Charlie Chan?” Doubt crossed her face like a shadow.
    â€œAnd my name’s Henry Czernicek, LAPD,” he said.
    â€œOkay, fine,” she said. “You know what you want to order?”
    â€œTwo pastrami sandwiches and coffee,” Czernicek answered, putting his ID back in his suit jacket pocket.
    She returned her pencil to her hair and put her order pad into the pocket of her uniform.
    â€œAren’t you a doll?” Czernicek said to her as she turned to go.
    She turned back, looking over her shoulder, mustering teenaged allure. “Thanks for the compliment, Detective.”
    â€œDetective what ?” Czernicek quizzed her.
    She stopped. “Your name?”
    â€œYeah, I just told you, little doll.”
    She shrugged. “Henry . . . something.”
    â€œGood enough,” Czernicek said.
    â€œOkay,” she said, confused.
    â€œYou can put our order in now,” Czernicek instructed.
    She sashayed away.
    â€œCharlie Chan?” Sumida asked him.
    Czernicek said nothing, but watched the waitress go. Then he reached across the table and, without warning, grabbed Sumida’s wrist, twisting it hard until Sumida thought it might break.
    â€œTell me what the hell is going on,” Czernicek demanded.
    â€œI don’t know.”
    He twisted harder.
    Sumida fixed Czernicek with a glare, even as tears formed unbidden in his eyes.
    Czernicek twisted harder still.
    Sumida could reach across the table with his free hand and hit the big cop in the head with the metal napkin dispenser, opening a hole in his skull. He knew after what he’d done last night in his own bungalow in Echo Park that he was more capable of inflicting physical damage than he’d believed.
    But what would that accomplish now?
    So instead he just held Czernicek’s glare, daring the big man to twist his wrist clean off.
    At last, Czernicek let go.
    â€œOkay, Sumida, so you don’t know what’s going on either. We’re partners then. But if this is some kind of trick . . .”
    Sumida dropped his sore wrist onto his lap, cradling it beneath the table. “That’s how it works being partners with you, Czernicek?”
    â€œI just needed to know you weren’t in on something.”
    Sumida laughed. “Me, in on something? I’m on the outside of everything, barely even looking in. You understand? Since last night . . . And, I suspect, since a long time before that. So don’t test me again, you son of a bitch.”
    Czernicek grinned. “Yeah, this is going to be a real fun partnership.”
    With