thinking about the police-I don’t know why. I searched for an old address book that I never use and his was the first number…” Wide-eyed, bewildered. “I didn’t know what to do. I should have called the police. Does it matter?”

“He wasn’t home.” Sol bent down, staring into her face. “Did he call today?”

“The phone has been ringing but I won’t answer it. The police were here all morning and they answered it. So I don’t know…”

I rattled my teacup, annoyed. “Sol, what is the meaning of this?”

“No meaning.” He made a clicking sound, annoyed. “Max is my best friend and…” Again he trembled as he turned away. A fierce edge to his voice. “Larry stopped being a friend sometime ago.”

“Why bring it up now? Do you think Larry killed Max?” I was blunt.

A deep intake of breath. “No, God, no. No.” He closed his eyes a second, his face becoming a grid of deep wrinkles. “No. No. Well, I don’t think so.”

“Then what?”

“He was one of Max’s enemies.

Alice sucked in her breath. “Sol, not now.”

Sol looked ready to sob. “Someone has to answer for this.”

Room service delivered dinner to my room at eight o’clock, but I barely touched the poached salmon. Parched, I downed glass after glass of water and pushed the plates away. I kept dropping ice cubes into my glass and refilling it, but the water was never icy enough.

I stared out the window, down at Wilshire Boulevard. Headlights were popping on, like fireflies appearing across a grassy field.

L.A. was empty for me now, a wasteland of wide boulevards and endless palm trees and redundant convertibles cruising up and down Wilshire Boulevard. Everyone in L.A. had to keep moving, driving, driving, afraid perhaps to stop. To stop was to realize that there really was nowhere to go. To escape you drove to the water’s edge or into the desert. Both landscapes dwarfed a soul. Endless palm trees. Endless turquoise cars and jade-green station wagons. Maddening.

New York had tunnels with rickety and smelly subways, a whole world underground. I’d never been on one, nor would I ever; but there must be a cold comfort in being buried down there. No sky to remind you that the sun would soon set. That night had fallen. That one more day of your life was gone. There was no time down there. You stopped counting the hours down there. Time in a vacuum.

Restless, I decided to walk outside the hotel, though I avoided the manicured grounds and the robin’s-egg blue pool. And, of course, I didn’t venture too far away on the boulevard lest Detective Tilden, idly dreaming of Malibu surf, send a squad car to rescue me from the noxious yellow smog and careening bumper-to-bumper traffic.

I needed to set something in motion-if only my body. I needed answers. Let me retrace the steps I’d taken this past week. Someone, I knew, had something to tell me. But what?

I stopped by the door of the Paradise Bar amp; Grill and noticed that the flickering “i” had abandoned its struggle to illuminate. Perhaps during my remaining week in L.A., I’d witness the complete disappearing act of the eatery-why not? Everything disappeared in L.A.

Yesterday I sat in this restaurant with Alice and Lorena. A wonderful evening filled with laughter and silliness. While I enjoyed their company, someone was murdering Max.

I shivered.

I needed to think about the people out here. I needed a plan of action. A glass of red wine, I thought. Quiet, alone.

The dingy room was nearly empty, a few drinkers hunched over the bar, the same portly bartender Harry polishing a glass as he took my order. He sat me at a table by the door, recognizing me. “Lorena’s taking this hard,” he murmured in a kind voice. “Real hard. She won’t get out of bed, Ethan told me. She can’t believe it.”

“Well, no one can.”

One of the bar patrons, a shriveled old man with hair tied into a careless ponytail, weathered sandals on his bare feet, sauntered to the juke box. Nat King Cole’s “Mona Lisa” came on, staticky but lovely, and the barfly swayed back and forth, humming along.

In a booth by the kitchen, Tony huddled with Liz Grable, Tony in the same seat he occupied last night with Ethan, who was nowhere in sight. Though they sat in shadows, I could see Liz leaning across the table, her hand resting on top of Tony’s, a comforting gesture. Gazing around the room, he spotted me. For a second he looked confused, squinting, and he whispered something to Liz. She watched me surreptitiously, her hand shielding her face; but the gesture was transparent, a child playing hide-and-seek. Then they both gave up and simply gaped at me, brazenly.

I finished my wine, laid a five-dollar bill on the table, and stood; but Harry, coming from behind the bar, refilled my glass, tapped the rim, and mumbled, “On the house.” He grinned. “Slow night in town and you’re my favorite customer.” I slid back into my seat.

“I doubt that, sir. But thank you.”

“It’s been a rough day, right?”

I took a couple sips, decided I’d had enough, and pushed the glass aside. At that moment, Ethan Pannis strolled out of the back room, a wad of cash in his fist. He handed it to Harry, and I heard the ping ping of a cash register drawer popping open. Ethan spotted me, a puzzled grin on his face, and he walked over.

“A woman of surprises, Miss Ferber.”

“I like this place.”

He gazed around the nearly empty room. “You seem to be the only one.” He nodded toward Harry. “He take good care of you?”

“The best,” I answered.

Uninvited, he sat down opposite me. “Lord, Miss Ferber, Lorena woke me before dawn. Alice called her at five or so. At first I couldn’t understand what she was telling me. She’s fallen apart. I’ve never seen her…like that. She’s always so composed. I didn’t know what to think.”

“I’ll have to call her.”

“She’s got us all rattled here. She keeps calling me but then she has nothing to say. You know, Metro is reeling from the news. That’s all everyone was talking about at work today. But it’s sort of sad…”

“Why’s that?”

“They’re all afraid news accounts will mention Metro. You know, Show Boat. The blacklist.”

I made my voice chilly. “Murder has a way of getting in the way of things.”

He ignored that but pointed at Tony. “He’s out of a job, you know. A new cross for me to bear. The only person surprised was Tony.”

My mind was elsewhere, but I said, “Well, I suppose Frank will pull a few strings.”

He shook his head vigorously. “No more. Frankie’s sick of him. He’s told me, Frankie has. No more. ‘Let the bastard screw up.’ I’m sick of him. Maybe a few years ago when he had some talent, when he was skinny and goofy and spouted Jack Benny jokes with a world-weary sarcastic edge, he could get away with it. Now he’s just a fool.”

“And yet you indulge him.”

He squirmed. “You know, I have no choice. I made a promise to my brother Lenny who told me to take care of Tony because he’d never be able to take care of himself. Tony’s always been a little too…slow.”

“So you feed him money and drink. Lots of drink.”

“What choice do I have?” He didn’t look happy with my words. “But not drinks. Don’t you believe that. That…well, I let him drink here, purposely, and Harry and I do our best…I mean, yeah, he gets…plastered. Of course, last night I had trouble saying no, given his moaning over the last stand-up job he’ll ever have.”

“Well, you can’t be a babysitter forever.”

He watched me, silent, then turned to gaze toward Tony and Liz, Liz still holding her hand over Tony’s. “He’ll drink himself to death.”

Вы читаете Make Believe
Добавить отзыв
ВСЕ ОТЗЫВЫ О КНИГЕ В ИЗБРАННОЕ

0

Вы можете отметить интересные вам фрагменты текста, которые будут доступны по уникальной ссылке в адресной строке браузера.

Отметить Добавить цитату