I did. I stocked 3 Floyds Gumballhead in my refrigerator just for him. It was his favorite. Getting it out, I passed him the bottle because Ian was not big on chilled glasses. He found it a bit frilly.
He took a seat at the counter and waited.
“What?”
“You called me, Eli. There must’ve been a reason.”
I had no idea how to start.
“Miro made stroganoff,” he informed me. “So you have until I finish this to get out whatever the fuck it is, because I’m starving.”
“I could get you—”
“My husband made me stroganoff,” he repeated. “I ain’t wasting my hunger on anything else.”
I could feel my stomach trying to squirm out of my body.
“For fuck’s sake, what’s up?”
I cleared my throat.
“Is this about Celso?”
“What do you mean?” I instantly tensed, glancing over at where he was sleeping.
“He’s passed out,” Ian informed me. “He’s not waking up anytime soon.”
I nodded.
“I know you’re worried about him.”
“I am, but between what you said earlier and then when I talked to George—did you talk to him after I did?”
“Yeah.”
“So he told you the same thing he told me.”
“Yep. He thinks the shooter was after Weaver and only Weaver.”
“Then I shouldn’t be worried, right?”
“I’m telling you straight, I don’t think so,” he said solemnly, his voice soft. “I think the killer got who he was after. Now, you and Jer and whatever detectives are on this need to figure out who the fuck wanted a ballet dancer dead.”
“Yeah. That’s the part that’s not making any sense.”
“Well, I was talking to Miro about it before he left the office, and he pointed out that the guy’s only been here what, six, seven months?”
“Almost seven, yeah.”
“He thinks that whatever it was Weaver was into had fuck all to do with Chicago. He thinks Weaver brought whatever trouble with him. Or someone else did.”
“Like Lincoln Palmer, the visiting choreographer.”
“Maybe. I mean, it’s as good a guess as any.”
“It is,” I agreed.
“We’re certainly not gonna get anything from the shooter,” Ian said, and took a long draw of his beer. “I read the forensic report, and the killer picked up his brass, so we’re not going to identify the bullet.”