I stepped out of the shade of La Villita the
summer air wrapped around my shoulders like a heavy cat. Everything
smelled like warm asphalt, and fifty feet in front of me Beau’s
shape became watery from the light and the heat.
It wasn’t until he stopped on the corner of Jack
White and stood there for a minute that I realized I’d made a
mistake. A car I knew pulled up briefly to the curb, the passenger’s
door opened, Beau got in, and the car pulled away, heading south.
The VW was three blocks away, hopelessly far. I
couldn’t do anything but stand on the corner watching Dan Sheff’s
silver BMW disappear down Nueva Street, just another mirage in the
midday glare.
18
I was starting to feel slightly depressed until I got
home and saw the police cruiser in front of Number 90 again. Gary
Hales, still in his pajamas, was out front, listing backward at about
the same angle as his house. He was talking to Jay Rivas and the two
uniformed cops, probably telling them how I came and went at all
hours and played with swords in the backyard.
Gary shuffled back inside and Jay greeted me warmly
as I got out of my car.
“ Little Tres," he said. “What a fucking
pleasure."
"Jay," I said. "If I knew you were
coming I’d’ve half baked a cake."
He motioned toward the house. The two cops hung back
under the pecan tree, trying not to sweat out of their uniforms. When
we got inside Robert Johnson took one look at our guest, puffed up to
twice his size, did a somersault, then ran into the bathroom. I was
sorry I hadn’t thought of it first.
“ He likes you," I said.
Rivas looked disdainfully at my futon, then decided
to stand. I started hunting through my bags for a fresh T-shirt.
"Late night last night, Navarre?" he
speculated. "You look like a pile of shit."
I let that pass. I brushed my teeth, splashed some
water in my face, laminated my armpits into submission with
extra-strength Ban.
Rivas didn’t like being kept waiting. He went over
to the wall and lifted my sword out of the rack. He looked at it,
snorted, dropped it on the floor. Then he picked up Carlon’s packet
of news clippings from the carpet.
“ Funny thing, " he said. “Seems like just
yesterday we were having this conversation about you staying the fuck
out of trouble. But it sounds like you got the monopoly on stubborn
and stupid."
I put on a UC Berkeley T-shirt and walked up to
Rivas. Calmly, I took the packet out of his hands and put it back on
the table.
“ You want to tell me about last night," he
said, “or do you maybe want to think about it in a cell for a
while?"
"You want to tell me what the hell you’re
talking about? Then maybe I can be more help."
"Lillian Cambridge," he said.
"I’m interested?
"You’re deeply in shit."
If he was waiting for me to display mortal terror, he
was disappointed.
"You’ll have to be more specific, Jay. I’m
usually in deep shit."
"How about this," he said. “Mom and Dad
Cambridge expect daughter Lillian for dinner every Sunday night.
Lillian’s a good kid. She does that kind of thing. She doesn’t
show—she doesn’t answer the phone all night or all yesterday.
Worried parents call the police. Seeing as Dad is the president of
Crockett Savings and Loan and can throw a few million dollars around,
the police tend to take his concerns to heart. Are you following this
so far or should I talk slower?"
"It’d be easier if I could watch your lips
move, Jay, but keep going."
"We check out her house this morning. It’s
been trashed, looks like the lady in question left in a hurry, maybe
not under her own steam. Then we find out from the neighbors that an
orange VW convertible was parked in the driveway late Monday night.
There’s just millions of those still running around town. Little
neighbor girl gives a pretty good description of the guy she saw in
Miss Cambridge’s house. Little girl’s parents recall this same
guy having a fight in front of the house Sunday afternoon. Is this
starting to
summer air wrapped around my shoulders like a heavy cat. Everything
smelled like warm asphalt, and fifty feet in front of me Beau’s
shape became watery from the light and the heat.
It wasn’t until he stopped on the corner of Jack
White and stood there for a minute that I realized I’d made a
mistake. A car I knew pulled up briefly to the curb, the passenger’s
door opened, Beau got in, and the car pulled away, heading south.
The VW was three blocks away, hopelessly far. I
couldn’t do anything but stand on the corner watching Dan Sheff’s
silver BMW disappear down Nueva Street, just another mirage in the
midday glare.
18
I was starting to feel slightly depressed until I got
home and saw the police cruiser in front of Number 90 again. Gary
Hales, still in his pajamas, was out front, listing backward at about
the same angle as his house. He was talking to Jay Rivas and the two
uniformed cops, probably telling them how I came and went at all
hours and played with swords in the backyard.
Gary shuffled back inside and Jay greeted me warmly
as I got out of my car.
“ Little Tres," he said. “What a fucking
pleasure."
"Jay," I said. "If I knew you were
coming I’d’ve half baked a cake."
He motioned toward the house. The two cops hung back
under the pecan tree, trying not to sweat out of their uniforms. When
we got inside Robert Johnson took one look at our guest, puffed up to
twice his size, did a somersault, then ran into the bathroom. I was
sorry I hadn’t thought of it first.
“ He likes you," I said.
Rivas looked disdainfully at my futon, then decided
to stand. I started hunting through my bags for a fresh T-shirt.
"Late night last night, Navarre?" he
speculated. "You look like a pile of shit."
I let that pass. I brushed my teeth, splashed some
water in my face, laminated my armpits into submission with
extra-strength Ban.
Rivas didn’t like being kept waiting. He went over
to the wall and lifted my sword out of the rack. He looked at it,
snorted, dropped it on the floor. Then he picked up Carlon’s packet
of news clippings from the carpet.
“ Funny thing, " he said. “Seems like just
yesterday we were having this conversation about you staying the fuck
out of trouble. But it sounds like you got the monopoly on stubborn
and stupid."
I put on a UC Berkeley T-shirt and walked up to
Rivas. Calmly, I took the packet out of his hands and put it back on
the table.
“ You want to tell me about last night," he
said, “or do you maybe want to think about it in a cell for a
while?"
"You want to tell me what the hell you’re
talking about? Then maybe I can be more help."
"Lillian Cambridge," he said.
"I’m interested?
"You’re deeply in shit."
If he was waiting for me to display mortal terror, he
was disappointed.
"You’ll have to be more specific, Jay. I’m
usually in deep shit."
"How about this," he said. “Mom and Dad
Cambridge expect daughter Lillian for dinner every Sunday night.
Lillian’s a good kid. She does that kind of thing. She doesn’t
show—she doesn’t answer the phone all night or all yesterday.
Worried parents call the police. Seeing as Dad is the president of
Crockett Savings and Loan and can throw a few million dollars around,
the police tend to take his concerns to heart. Are you following this
so far or should I talk slower?"
"It’d be easier if I could watch your lips
move, Jay, but keep going."
"We check out her house this morning. It’s
been trashed, looks like the lady in question left in a hurry, maybe
not under her own steam. Then we find out from the neighbors that an
orange VW convertible was parked in the driveway late Monday night.
There’s just millions of those still running around town. Little
neighbor girl gives a pretty good description of the guy she saw in
Miss Cambridge’s house. Little girl’s parents recall this same
guy having a fight in front of the house Sunday afternoon. Is this
starting to
Similar Books
