was all done amazing you, he amazed you again.
He looked up, met Thad’s gaze. Thad raised his chin, tried to stare Bernie down. Good luck with that, was my thought.
“Uh,” said Thad, “the Lamborghini has a different feel.”
“Yeah?” said Bernie. “And the Ferrari?”
“Also different. And, come to think of it, different from the Lamborghini, too.”
“Must be a challenge,” Bernie said. “What other cars have you got?”
Thad started counting on his fingers, one of those human things which always makes me like them a bit more. He paused. “Just at home in LA, or should I include the ones in storage?”
Bernie said nothing.
Thad cleared his throat. “Here’s some hand sanitizer,” he said. “Clean up that little mess in no time.”
We drove deeper into the desert, Bernie at the wheel, Thad riding shotgun with Brando on his lap, me still in back. After not too long, Bernie turned off the blacktop and followed a dirt track up toward some big red rocks, a track that petered out before we got there. Bernie stopped the car.
“What’s going on?” Thad said.
“Want to see something interesting?” Bernie said.
“Like what?” Thad checked his watch.
“Let’s make it a surprise.”
“I hate surprises.”
Bernie smiled, one of those smiles of his that’s just for himself-and me, of course, goes without saying-and we all piled out of the car, me hitting the ground first. We walked up toward the red rocks, me in the lead, then Bernie, Thad, and Brando, actually moving under his own power. Once-this was back on our trip to San Diego- Bernie said that the fog came in on little cat feet, a remark that I’d never been able to forget no matter how hard I’d tried, and that was how Brando moved along, like he was made of cloud, weighing nothing, although in fact he looked pudgy to me.
We reached the big red rocks, stepped between two of them and entered a narrow shaded space with rocky walls on both sides. At the end stood a flat rock as high as Bernie’s chest. He pulled himself up with a little grunt and Thad followed with a bigger one, leaving me and Brando standing down below. Brando looked at me. I looked at Brando. Then, without any apparent effort, he glided-that was what it looked like-glided up on top of the rock.
“Chet?” Bernie called down. “You coming?”
Oh, what an awful moment: me, dead last. I sprang, one of my very best leaps, clearing the lip of the rock by plenty, and sticking my landing without the slightest bobble, but no one saw. They were all at the other end of the rock, standing before a drawing in the cliff face. We’d done some prowling around in the desert looking for drawings like this, me and Bernie, always lots of fun although the point of it I’ll leave to you. Had I seen this one before? I didn’t think so.
“That round thing with the rays is the sun?” Thad said. “And the guy’s dancing under it?”
“It’s the sun, all right,” said Bernie. “But when the figures are upside-down, D-shaped like that, they’re dead.”
“So it’s a dead guy under the sun?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Wonder why anyone…” Thad began. He gazed at the drawing for a long time, then slowly reached out and touched the rock, but off to the side, not on the drawing.
“It’s warm,” he said.
“Uh-huh,” said Bernie.
There was a silence. Then Thad, eyes bigger and bluer than ever-kind of like he’d taken the sky inside him, what a thought! — and still on the drawing, said, “Thanks, man.” Bernie nodded. Thad took a deep breath. “Everything’s so fucked up,” he said.
“Like what?” said Bernie.
“You name it,” Thad said.
“Jiggs?” said Bernie.
Thad whipped around toward Bernie, real quick. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just throwing out a name,” Bernie said. “Your suggestion.”
“Why that one?”
“No real reason,” Bernie said. “He doesn’t seem like the typical bodyguard type, that’s all.”
“What are you talking about?” Thad said. “Seen the size of him?”
“A big boy,” Bernie said. “On the outside. Kind of complicated on the inside.”
“Complicated? Complicated how?”
“Just an impression. How long have you known him?”
Thad backed away a bit. Brando, who’d been curled up on the rocks, rose and climbed up on Thad, settling on his shoulder. “Long enough,” Thad said. “What are you getting at?”
“Nothing,” Bernie said. “He’s from LA?”
“So?”
“I hear you’re from out this way originally.”
Thad backed up another step. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Someone mentioned it.”
“Who?”
“Don’t remember offhand,” Bernie said. “Is it true?”
“It’s a total goddamn lie,” Thad said, his voice rising suddenly in that huge, ringing way it had. The sound echoed in the rocks, boomed back over us, maybe taking Thad by surprise because he jerked slightly, like he’d stuck his tongue in a wall socket; no time to go into that now. Surprised or even-yes, I smelled it-scared. He spoke more quietly. “Not a lie, exactly. I just meant it’s not true. I’m from LA.”
“Cool,” Bernie said.
TWELVE
Bernie stood in front of the whiteboard, the zigzag groove that sometimes appeared on his forehead now easy to see, meaning he was doing some serious thinking. We were in the office, down the hall from Charlie’s old bedroom. A basket of kid’s blocks lay by the window-the room was meant for a little sister or brother that never came along. Sometimes I played with the blocks myself, but at the moment I was watching old man Heydrich out on his deck with the leaf blower. We hated the leaf blower, me and Bernie. Old man Heydrich didn’t use it just for leaves, of which there were hardly ever any on the ground in our neighborhood, but also for blowing the dust off his deck, probably what he was up to now, except he couldn’t get the thing to start. He jerked and yanked on the cord, his bony face reddening, and finally gave the thing a real nasty kick-surprisingly powerful for such a scrawny old dude-and stalked off into his house. Nothing much new: I’d seen humans kick their machines before, also punch and slap them, throw them out windows and into swimming pools, and stomp on them till the insides came springing out-and then they sometimes stomped on the insides, too! Machines could really get humans angry, that was clear, but… but could humans get machines angry? Hey! What a crazy thought! I hoped nothing like it ever entered my head again.
“What’s so interesting?” Bernie said, coming over to the window. He gazed out. “Nothing going on, big guy.” He moved back toward the whiteboard. I lay down on the rug-a nice nubbly rug with a pattern of circus elephants- and watched Bernie. I can watch him all day, never get tired of that.
When we’re working on a case, he likes to spend time at the whiteboard, drawing boxes and arrows. He was doing it now. Did it mean we were on a case? This Thad Perry gig was a case? How? Then I thought of Manuel whatever-his-name-was and that slit in his chest. Next I hoped for another thought that would come zinging in and clear everything up, nice and tidy, but it didn’t.
“Over here,” Bernie said, making a box inside a box-whoa, this was going to be amazing-“we have Jiggs
