"You look chipper this morning," said Billy. "What's the occasion?"
Thorpe slid into the booth beside Billy, the two of them facing the entrance. "Maybe I'm just happy to see you."
"Perhaps that's it." Billy's plate was piled high with a Turbo omelette, the specialty of the Harbor House Cafe in Sunset Beach-four eggs, three kinds of cheese, bacon, sweet onions, and sliced avocado. They sat in the corner of the patio overlooking Pacific Coast Highway, and though the surrounding tables were filled, the traffic noise masked their conversation. Billy sliced into the omelette with the side of his fork. He was a big man, but he took small bites, his manners impeccable. "Although I suspect your bonhomie has more to do with that wake-up of yours."
"Just coffee, thanks," Thorpe said to the waitress. He had sent the "be kind to strangers and small children" card to Meachum's gallery- he should get it today. Thorpe watched the waitress walk away. A sunny day, Meachum getting his wake-up, and a waitress in running shorts with the legs of a marathoner. He should call Father Esteban and tell him to light a candle in gratitude.
Billy wore dark slacks and a Hawaiian shirt with hula dancers on it, their grass skirts shimmying as he ate. On him, it had a look of casual elegance, a planter from the 1920s with five thousand acres of pineapples to be harvested, and never a doubt in his mind that the offshore hurricane would strike the next plantation, not his. "Have you settled everything with the art dealer?"
"All settled."
"You should thank the poor man." Billy dabbed his lips with a napkin. "I haven't seen you look this good since your encounter with the Engineer."
Thorpe watched the waitress approach with his coffee. The people at the surrounding tables were mostly locals and construction workers from the condos being put up across the street, young people in beach attire, and yacht clubbers from the nearby marina, wearing pearls and Rolexes.
"You sure this is all you want?" the waitress asked him.
Thorpe smiled back at her. "I've got all I can handle."
"You should thank the art dealer," said Billy as the waitress left.
"You already said that."
"The truth bears repeating."
"What did you want to talk to me about, Billy?"
Billy's eyes were innocent. "Do I need a reason?"
"No, but you always seem to have one."
Billy laid his fork down. "How did you find Dale Bingham?"
Thorpe was surprised. "How do you know him?"
Billy leaned forward. He seemed to engulf the table, the hula dancers on his shirt in perfect syncopation. "You asked me to find out if the Engineer worked for another shop, so I quietly put out the word. It was Bingham who finally provided confirmation. Now you surprise him, asking questions, so he thinks I gave him up."
"I had no idea, Billy. I got his name from another source."
"I told him that had to be the case, but he doesn't believe me." Billy drummed his fingers on the tabletop, restless. "That's what I get for trying to do a good deed. I'm picking up all your bad habits." He glared at Thorpe. "I had hoped to recruit him."
Thorpe shook his head. "I don't think Bingham's right for the job."
"Bingham has a great set of ears. He could have been very useful." Billy poked at his omelette. "I won't ask you who referred you to him."
Thorpe laughed. "Go ahead, ask."
"I don't want to fight." Billy delicately lifted a thin forkful of eggs and avocado, offered it to Thorpe. "Bite?" He waited, shrugged. "Warren said to tell you that he's traced the Engineer to Southern California. He's definitely still in the area."
"I know."
Billy looked surprised.
"He instant-messaged me a few nights ago. We had a little chat."
"He told you where he was?"
Thorpe smiled. "He said he was living on the beach, talked about the offshore swells coming in. I told him I was living on the coast, too."
"Risky behavior on your part, don't you think?"
"Why lie when the truth accomplishes the purpose? We both want to get together." Thorpe watched three trim, well-dressed older women at a nearby table, laughing as they worked on their second round of mimosas. One was showing the others something in the newspaper. "The only difference is that the Engineer wants to talk before he kills me. He thinks I've got a few million stashed, and he wants me to tell him where it is. Me… I don't need to talk with him. I just want to kill the motherfucker."
Billy rested his fingers on Thorpe's wrist. "Be careful." His fingers flexed. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to you."
Thorpe glanced at Billy's manicure, noted the perfect half-moon cuticles, the thick, healthy nails.
Billy removed his hand. "Come work for me. I've got a very tricky job. It's just your style."
Thorpe checked his watch. Shock Waves was out of print, but he had located a bootleg 35-mm copy from a collector in Seattle and had received it by FedEx yesterday. In four days, it was going to be shown as the midnight feature at the Strand, a small theater in Huntington Beach. The local papers were running small notices about the special presentation in the entertainment sections tomorrow. He had thought to publicize it more widely, but he didn't want to scare off the Engineer. If he really was a movie buff, he'd see the notice.
"Frank?" Billy pursed his lips. "Remember the account I told you about at the bowling alley? I'm trying to turn the chief software designer of a local firm. He's relatively young, MIT grad, not married, but he has a girlfriend. Interesting woman-breeds Dobermans and is a chess grandmaster. I was hoping to use a variant of what you did with that coven of white supremacists in Bakersfield. A masterful scenario, but difficult to execute, and I don't have anyone on staff I trust with the job. I was hoping you could step in for a couple weeks. Money is no object. The client has given me a blank check."
"I'm busy."
"Nonsense. You're finished with your wake-up. All you're doing now is waiting around for the Engineer to pop out of a cake or something. I'm giving you a chance to earn some money."
"I still have most of the get-lost cash the shop gave me."
"May I give you some advice, Frank?"
"No."
Billy pushed aside his plate, sent silverware clattering. "You've got too much heart. It gets in your way. It limits you. I want you to reconsider what I've-"
Thorpe turned as the ladies at the nearby table exploded in laughter, and he saw a photograph of Missy in the paper one of them was waving.
"I've always been open to compromise," said Billy. "Perhaps you'd be willing to consult on the case. Just give me the value of your expertise. I'll be honest with you-I think once you get your toes wet, you won't be able to resist. Come on, Frank, quit playing hard to get."
"Excuse me," Thorpe said to the woman holding the newspaper. "Could I see that when you're finished with it?"
"Take it, please," said the woman, a taut matron in white silk workout garb, her mouth a lascivious slash. "The girls and I will pee ourselves laughing if we read it again."
Thorpe took the copy of the Gold Coast Pilot back to the table, starting to read it as he walked.
"What is it?" asked Billy as Thorpe sat down.
"Trouble," said Thorpe.