We walked out of lax into brilliant sunshine tinged with smog.
"Welcome to Los Angeles," Rink said.
I stiffed the urge to cough.
Rink laughed to himself. "You get used to it. Just try not to breathe for the next week or so and you'll be?ne."
We hailed a cab and followed Route 405 north. Off to our left was the vastness of the Paci?c Ocean. We only got snatches of the blue expanse, but I was constantly aware of it. Something about the sky over the sea, like it hovered over a magni?cent precipice. Signposts over the highway indicated Marina del Rey, Venice Beach, Santa Monica, all off toward the sea. All places I'd have loved to visit given the opportunity.
To our east, Hollywood and Beverly Hills beckoned, but we continued north past the Getty Center until we hit the 101, then joined the?ow of traf?c heading east. We passed Universal Studios, and like most, I craned my neck hoping to see someone famous. Then we were fast approaching Pasadena, where Rink had set us up a place to stay.
We had to speak to a house manager, something like a low-rent concierge, who had an apartment on the lower?oor of the apartment block where we were going to stay. He gave Rink a key card and directed us to our apartment, gesturing with the ham sandwich he held in his hand.
When we found our apartment, it turned out to be bigger than I'd expected. We both chose a bedroom, then convened in the lounge area. It was clean and roomy, and the air-conditioning was a blessing after the sweltering drive. Still, neither of us wanted to remain cooped up there for long.
"Want to hit the shower, then go out and get a bite to eat?" Rink offered.
"Sounds like a plan," I admitted. "But I think the shower can wait. My stomach thinks my throat's cut."
"What do you want?" Rink asked. "Silver service or burger an' fries?"
"Burger and fries all the way, big guy," I said.
"I know just the place," Rink said.
He took me to a diner with the unlikely sobriquet of Spicy John-ny's-I couldn't stop myself laughing, the name conjured up the kind of ad you see emblazoned across those coin-operated machines in men's restrooms. I have to admit, though, Spicy Johnny?ipped a mean burger, and his Caesar salad topped off with breaded onion rings was to die for. A side plate of Cajun-spiced potato wedges and a huge banana shake?nished me off.
Back in our rooms, we fell asleep almost instantly. Even my worry about John was shoved to one side by the more urgent need for quality rest. I slept for the best part of two hours, waking when the sun was at its zenith and its most intense.
My body was dripping with perspiration and I could put off my shower no longer. Coming out of the stall feeling almost human again, I could hear Rink moving around in his own room. Vacating the bathroom, I went into the living room. I popped a bottle of mineral water
I found in the fridge and sat back on a comfy chair in front of the TV. The news was on, so I watched.
When Rink was finished getting ready, he joined me. We'd already discussed local contacts, and Rink was going to set us up with an LAPD officer named Cheryl Barker to see what they knew. Before that could be done, there were still a few things left over from Little Rock that I wanted to lay to rest.
"I feel a bit of a heel leaving Harvey to pick up the pieces we left behind."
"Harve'll be?ne," Rink assured me. "If we hadn't allowed him to do something for us, it'd have hurt his feelings. He's a sensitive guy, you know."
I laughed. To look at him, Harvey was unstoppable, as if you would blunt an ax trying to mark his shiny dome. But Rink was right; I'd seen Harvey's vulnerability when he had to take a step back from the assault on Sigmund Petoskey. It wasn't easy for him to sit on his haunches while the rest of us went into the thick of it.
Then there was the other side.
The cool way he'd shot the hit man in the mouth.
"He'll get Louise Blake to a safe place," Rink went on. "Don't worry about that." "As long as nothing happens to them before he gets the opportunity," I said.
"What's goin' to happen? You ask me, the homeboys who were puttin' the heat on Louise are in L.A. now. I don't think Harve's got anythin' to worry about."
"You think the FBI is going to let Louise go? She's a direct link to John; they'll be watching in case he tries to make contact." "Harvey's good. He'll get her out safely. Whether the FBI likes it or not." I took Rink's word for it. He knew Harvey and had told me prior to meeting him that he was a good soldier. Now I'd witnessed his skills ?rsthand, and I had no doubt that Rink knew what he was talking about.
"So what do you make of what Petoskey told us?" I asked.
Rink shrugged, made a clucking noise with his tongue. "All bullshit."
"In particular what he said about CIA agents?"
"Bullshit. He knew full well who those other guys were. He was just spinning us a line because he thought we were federal agents."
"You remember the name someone shouted when we were in the building?"
"Yeah. Hendrickson's men are here," he said. "They were shouting like we were from a rival gang."
"Yes. A rival gang. I think Hendrickson sent them to mess with Petoskey. I get the feeling Petoskey and Hendrickson aren't on good terms anymore. Shit, we went in there and blasted the hell out of some of his guys, shot up his building, probably ruined his evening. But he hasn't made one word of complaint to the police. If he believed that we were government agents, don't you think there'd have been a massive lawsuit lodged by now?"
"Unless he knew we weren't with the CIA and was only playing out a scenario for the bene?t of his guests."
"Nah, too slim." I mulled it around my head a little longer. "Could be he thought we were sent by Hendrickson, and he mentioned the CIA to put a scare into us. You know, like a subtle threat?"
"Unless these Latinos are government agents?"
"They're not CIA. Walter con?rmed that."
"He could've been lying."
"No, Rink. He wouldn't've given me approval to shoot to kill if they were any of his men."
"So why all the bull from Petoskey about the CIA?"
Back to square one.
"We can only wait and see," I said.