Once he’d gulped in air, he tried again. “I’m working as studio and on-site assistant. I-I-” He sucked in air when Eve pointed her finger at him. “I have the camera ready, set the lights, change the set, whatever he wants.”
“How long have you worked for him?”
“Two weeks.” Dingo looked cautiously at the door of the room where Hastings waited. Then leaning closer to Eve, he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Mostly his assistants don’t last long. I heard the one before me was in and out in three hours. That’s kind of a record. The longest was six weeks.”
“And why is this?”
“He freaks, man. Complete meltdown. Nuclear. You screw up, you don’t screw up, whatever, if something doesn’t fly right for him, he’s orbital.”
“Violent?”
“He breaks shit, throws shit. I saw him beat his own head against the wall last week.”
“Seen him beat anybody else’s?”
“Not so far, but I heard he threatened to throw this guy in front of a maxibus during a field shoot. I don’t think he actually did it, or anything.”
“Have you seen this girl around here? In person, in portraits?”
Dingo took the print. “No. Not my type.”
“Oh?”
“She doesn’t look like she’d party.”
“Would you say she’s Hastings’s type?”
“For party-time?”
“For any time.”
“Not for partying. Don’t think the dude parties much. But he’d go for the face.”
“You own a vehicle, Dingo?”
He glanced up at her again. “I got an airboard.”
“A vehicle, with doors?”
“Nah.” He actually grinned at the idea of it. “But I can drive. That’s one of the reasons I got the job, because I can drive Hastings to consignments and shit.” He paused a minute, frowned down at the print. “He didn’t really throw somebody in front of a maxi, did he?”
“Not that I know of. What were you doing night before last?”
“Just hanging, I guess.”
“And where would this hanging have taken place?”
“Um . . . I dunno. I was just . . .” The light dawned, turning his eyes into wide, glassy saucers in a face gone dead pale. “Oh man, oh Jesus, I’m like a suspect?”
“Why don’t you tell me where you were, what you were doing, who you were with?”
“I-I-I, jeez! Loose and Brick and Jazz and me, we hung at Brick’s place for a while, then we cruised The Spot, this club we go to mostly, and Loose, he got pretty messed up, so we dumped him home about, jeez, about one, maybe? Then we hung a little more, and I went home and crashed.”
“Do these hanging buddies have actual names?”
“Oh, oh, yeah.”
“Give them to the officer, along with your address. Then you’re free to go.”