11
Jack’s Tracfone rang at 11:10 as he was surfing his movie choices on the pay-per-view channel.
“Hello?” said a voice he thought he recognized. “Is this John Tyleski?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Ernie, the manager from the Vintage Theatre. You still up for that Bronson tour?”
“Sure am.”
“The two-hundred offer still good?”
“Waiting right here in my pocket.”
“Then how does seven o’clock tomorrow morning sound?”
“Kind of early.”
“Sunrise is at six. You won’t miss anything. Told you I had to work. This way I get in just a little late. For two hundred, I can afford to miss an hour or two. I’ll meet you up there. Need directions?”
“Can’t you pick me up?”
“Nah. I’ll be biking it.”
“I’ll pick you up then.”
“No-no,” he said quickly. “That won’t work. It’s easy to get to. I’ll give you directions.”
Jack used the room’s pen and pad to write them down, then hung up.
He stood at the window and watched the thinning pedestrian parade below, then stared at the smog-smudged lights of the downtown buildings in the basin. This situation stank like the air down there looked.
Earlier tonight Goren had looked at him like he was Sergeant Markoff, or maybe Frank Miller. Now he was up for guiding Jack on a tour.
Why the change of heart? Two hundred bucks? Maybe. But Jack had his doubts.
He’d have to be careful.