Early the next morning Marquez flew into LAX and then drove to Venice. He walked into the Rose Cafe a little after 9:00 and told the hostess, ‘I’m looking for a friend.’
Without missing a beat, she answered, ‘So am I.’
They both laughed and she led him to a table outside under a covered area where Raymond Mendoza aka Rayman sat alone with an omelet and a plate of toast. He wore a leather cowboy hat, a long-sleeved black T-shirt, jeans, and sandals. He looked like an artist.
‘Rayman.’
‘Hey man, what’s going on, long time.’
There were no handshakes, smiles or pretense of liking each other, no pretending that they were both just living their lives doing their thing. Marquez slid one of the plastic chairs back and sat down. Rayman took another bite of omelet and spread jelly on a piece of toast. Sheryl didn’t know whether Rayman knew yet about Holsing, but said use the information with Rayman if you need to, and Marquez dropped it right on him now.
‘They found Holsing’s body last night.’
Rayman briefly put his toast down, then reconsidered and took another bite as Marquez guessed he already knew Holsing was dead.
‘Do you want to know where he was found and how he died?’
Rayman, mouth full of toast, shook his head, no.
‘I need you to pass a message to Stoval for me. It’s personal.’
Rayman’s face had filled out and his eyes sat back in it, coal black, watchful, the student who studied economics in college still back there somewhere, the guy who did a ten spot in prison watching him.
‘The message is that if anything happens to anyone in my family I’m going to quit my job and hunt Stoval until I find him. The message is this time I won’t stop. Pass it up the chain. It’ll get there.’
‘I’m not in the biz anymore. I did ten years in prison.’
‘From what I know about him he wouldn’t want you to sit on the message. But that’s your decision to make. Do you want me to try somebody else and tell them I tried you and you refused to pass the message on?’
‘You don’t want to send that message, man.’
Rayman ate some more and then got agitated. He pushed the plate away and waved the waitress off as she tried to refill his coffee. He pulled his wallet out to pay as Marquez asked, ‘After you made that phone call eighteen years ago and gave Sheryl the tip that the Salazars were going to rip off a load, who did you call next?’
‘Miguel.’
‘Miguel Salazar?’
‘Yeah, man, Miguel Salazar. Who else would I call?’ He belched and laid a twenty dollar bill on the table. ‘I was working for him.’
‘Jim Osiers got set up.’
Now Rayman smiled. ‘The bitch is in trouble, isn’t she? It’s why you’re here. She came to my parole hearings and fucked with me and now she’s going to get hers. I’m talking to the DEA, I’m out with it, man. I’ve told them how the Salazars made me lie.’
‘Who else did you call that night?’
‘No one.’
‘Yeah, you called Miguel and you made at least one other call, didn’t you? Then you figured it was a done deal. You disappeared back across the California border. But it didn’t end there and it was still waiting for you when you walked out of prison. It’s waiting for you now.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I can’t follow your crap.’
‘What happened has to be answered for. Pass that on to Stoval. Tell him I said it’s not over for him either.’
‘You’re like a prophet, man. You’re like this crazy dude who lives down the street from me and dresses like Jesus. He knows all about the future because he reads the Bible. Is that what you read?’ Rayman leaned forward, his bloated face hovering over the table. ‘Fuck you, Marquez.’
Marquez stood. He tucked the chair back in.
‘Pass the message on, Rayman.’