The Promise: An Elvis Cole and Joe Pike Novel by Robert Crais Page A
Authors: Robert Crais
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either.
Slipping their tail was what we in the trade called ‘suspicious behavior.’ Carter would react fast, and come down hard, but Amy and Meryl were covered.
I picked up the freeway, and headed for Everett’s Natural Creations.
15
E VERETT ’ S N ATURAL C REATIONS was on a hip street in Los Feliz lined with music conservatories, purveyors of artisanal coffees, and taquerías selling ‘hand-crafted’ tacos for eight bucks a pop. Hipness came with a price.
I parked around the corner but didn’t get out of the car. The police would be all over whoever owned Lerner’s house, but the current owner might not have been Lerner’s landlord. Rental applications were gold mines, and often contained contact information for employers, personal references, and relatives. I called a real estate agent I knew named Laura Freeman.
Laura and I went on one date eleven years ago and had a great time, but the next day she met the man she would marry. Her husband was a real estate agent, too, back when they met, and a struggling developer. He was smart, he worked hard, and together theybuilt his business from single-family spec homes to shopping centers. My loss, her gain. Laura answered on the first ring.
I said, “Do me a favor and you can tell everyone I’m your boyfriend.”
“Who is this?”
Humor.
“I need the title history of a property in Echo Park.”
“Single family or commercial?”
“Single family.”
I gave her the address along with the burner’s number.
“We miss you. When are you coming for dinner?”
“When’s Donald out of town?”
More humor. Kinda.
She called me a horrible flirt, told me she’d phone when she had the information, and hung up. It wasn’t the first time.
I slid out of the car and was halfway to Everett’s when the burner chirped. Pike.
“The Dodge came back with a dark blue Ford.”
The Ford made three cars.
“Are they watching my car?”
“The Ford is watching. The Dodge crew hiked up the fire road twenty minutes ago. My guess, the Sentra is hiking down. They’re looking for you.”
“They’re going to be disappointed.”
Pike was silent for a moment, then simply hung up. To expect more was to be disappointed.
Everett’s was a world exploding with color. Arrangements of cut flowers and potted plants were displayed on tables and pedestals and hung from the ceiling. Buckets containing yet more flowers mazedthe floor and filled cases lining the walls. The flowers were vibrant with life and color but absent of scent. The little shop smelled like plants, but not like flowers.
A young woman with heavy frame glasses and short dark hair was taking a phone order behind a counter. A second woman and a man in his forties were arranging flowers on a workbench behind her. The second woman wore a white tank top to show an enormous peacock tattooed on her shoulder. The man was bunching violet and pink roses in a heavy glass bowl. The roses were so densely packed they looked like a rose balloon.
I smiled at the girl taking the order. She held up a finger, asking me to wait. She finished scribbling, slapped the order on the workbench, and hurried back.
“Sorry. I hope you don’t need anything delivered today. We’re crushing to make the last truck.”
The man arranging the roses sang out over his shoulder.
“Not crushing,
crushed
! We are crushed! The pressure to create beauty has crushed us!”
The girl rolled her eyes.
“He loves it.”
The man sang out again.
“Oh, you wish!”
The girl had a nice smile.
“Okay, so, how can I help you now that you know we can’t help you?”
The man glanced from his roses.
“Speak for yourself, honey. Some of us here would love to help him.”
The girl giggled again.
I said, “You guys should take it on the road. You’re funny.”
The man fluffed at the roses.
“Some of us have
many
talents.”
The girl rolled her eyes again.
“He’s incorrigible. What can I do for you?”
I showed her the picture I took
Slipping their tail was what we in the trade called ‘suspicious behavior.’ Carter would react fast, and come down hard, but Amy and Meryl were covered.
I picked up the freeway, and headed for Everett’s Natural Creations.
15
E VERETT ’ S N ATURAL C REATIONS was on a hip street in Los Feliz lined with music conservatories, purveyors of artisanal coffees, and taquerías selling ‘hand-crafted’ tacos for eight bucks a pop. Hipness came with a price.
I parked around the corner but didn’t get out of the car. The police would be all over whoever owned Lerner’s house, but the current owner might not have been Lerner’s landlord. Rental applications were gold mines, and often contained contact information for employers, personal references, and relatives. I called a real estate agent I knew named Laura Freeman.
Laura and I went on one date eleven years ago and had a great time, but the next day she met the man she would marry. Her husband was a real estate agent, too, back when they met, and a struggling developer. He was smart, he worked hard, and together theybuilt his business from single-family spec homes to shopping centers. My loss, her gain. Laura answered on the first ring.
I said, “Do me a favor and you can tell everyone I’m your boyfriend.”
“Who is this?”
Humor.
“I need the title history of a property in Echo Park.”
“Single family or commercial?”
“Single family.”
I gave her the address along with the burner’s number.
“We miss you. When are you coming for dinner?”
“When’s Donald out of town?”
More humor. Kinda.
She called me a horrible flirt, told me she’d phone when she had the information, and hung up. It wasn’t the first time.
I slid out of the car and was halfway to Everett’s when the burner chirped. Pike.
“The Dodge came back with a dark blue Ford.”
The Ford made three cars.
“Are they watching my car?”
“The Ford is watching. The Dodge crew hiked up the fire road twenty minutes ago. My guess, the Sentra is hiking down. They’re looking for you.”
“They’re going to be disappointed.”
Pike was silent for a moment, then simply hung up. To expect more was to be disappointed.
Everett’s was a world exploding with color. Arrangements of cut flowers and potted plants were displayed on tables and pedestals and hung from the ceiling. Buckets containing yet more flowers mazedthe floor and filled cases lining the walls. The flowers were vibrant with life and color but absent of scent. The little shop smelled like plants, but not like flowers.
A young woman with heavy frame glasses and short dark hair was taking a phone order behind a counter. A second woman and a man in his forties were arranging flowers on a workbench behind her. The second woman wore a white tank top to show an enormous peacock tattooed on her shoulder. The man was bunching violet and pink roses in a heavy glass bowl. The roses were so densely packed they looked like a rose balloon.
I smiled at the girl taking the order. She held up a finger, asking me to wait. She finished scribbling, slapped the order on the workbench, and hurried back.
“Sorry. I hope you don’t need anything delivered today. We’re crushing to make the last truck.”
The man arranging the roses sang out over his shoulder.
“Not crushing,
crushed
! We are crushed! The pressure to create beauty has crushed us!”
The girl rolled her eyes.
“He loves it.”
The man sang out again.
“Oh, you wish!”
The girl had a nice smile.
“Okay, so, how can I help you now that you know we can’t help you?”
The man glanced from his roses.
“Speak for yourself, honey. Some of us here would love to help him.”
The girl giggled again.
I said, “You guys should take it on the road. You’re funny.”
The man fluffed at the roses.
“Some of us have
many
talents.”
The girl rolled her eyes again.
“He’s incorrigible. What can I do for you?”
I showed her the picture I took
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