Ginzu knife and the automatic veeblefetzer. Given the real bad feeling I was getting from the little deadbeating bitch, I decided to keep shadowing her. First day, she did more of the usual rich-girl shit. Shopping, massage, more shopping. Which is weirdly carefree for someone who claims to be worried about her family. Second day starts off the same way. Neiman Marcus, little walk up Two Rodeo, she checks out the jewelry at Tiffany, Judith Ripka, buys sunglasses at Porsche Design. Then she drives two blocks-because she’s an L.A. girl-to an office building on Wilshire and Canon. Lobby directory says it’s the law firm Daddy uses. Same guys she bad-mouthed to me and she’s visiting them. I sit across the street and wait for her to leave. When she does, it’s not in her Beemer. She’s a passenger in a Mercedes, some guy’s at the wheel. They make a beeline to the Peninsula, Simone’s pal tips the doorman big enough to leave the car in front. Two hours later, the two of them come out with that goofy, no- longer-horny look. Meanwhile, I’ve run the tags on the Mercedes-don’t ask me how, okay?”
Milo said, “Perish the thought.”
Fox said, “Comes back to Alston Weir, Attorney-at-Mischief. Such a greedy scumbag, she wouldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. Meanwhile he’s her lunch-hour fuck-buddy.”
Reed said, “Is Weir bald?”
“You think, Moses? Is there any other good reason to saddle himself with a big old mess of phony, piss-yellow fake-o hair? I’m talking Halloween, guys. Blond dust mop. What I find weird is the guy knows how to dress. Zegna suit, Ricci tie, Magli shoes. Threads like that and he blows it with a bad rug. Go figure.”
“Maybe he’s got an exaggerated self-image,” said Milo.
“Meaning?”
“Thinks he’s cuter than he really is, ’cause of all the Bondo in his face.”
Fox frowned. “Yeah, that, too. So you know all this? I just blew off a client for nothing?”
No answer.
“Oh, that’s just great. You guys sit there and let me spin my wheels.” To his brother: “Having fun, Moses?”
Reed smiled. But no irony, no resentment. Maybe even something resembling brotherly affection.
“What?” Fox demanded.
“We knew a little, Aaron. You just made it a lot.”
The four of us left the restaurant. Fox and Reed walked side by side, seemed on the verge of conversation. But neither brother initiated.
Milo said, “Did you happen to hold on to Simone’s garbage, Aaron?”
“Lucky for you, I’m a bit of a pat rack, Milo. Moses can verify. His side of the room looked like some ashram, mine was beaucoup toys.”
Reed said, “Beaucoup junk.”
Fox said, “Shall I have it picked up or would you like me to deliver?”
“We’ll come to you, Aaron. And thanks.”
“Figured I had to, the girl’s bad news. Any way to keep my part quiet?”
“We’ll do our best.”
Fox fooled with his pocket square and eyed his Porsche. “Meaning no.”
Milo said, “You know how it goes, Aaron. Depends where it leads. Meanwhile, do us another favor and hold off on trying to collect your bill from Simone.”
“For how long?”
“Until it’s no longer an issue.”
“Meaning never.”
“Meaning until it’s no longer an issue.”
“Now,” said Fox, “you’re sounding like a lieutenant.”
Pulling Alston “Buddy” Weir’s driver’s license took seconds. Forty-five years old, blond and blue, beta-carotene tan coating a heavy face that alternated between too-tight and losing the battle with gravity.
The bored, insolent expression of a man with better things to do than pose for the clerk. No one had questioned the biological authenticity of the Jan-and-Dean wig.
No criminal record, but a bar association complaint, still pending, had been filed two years ago over misappropriation of funds.
Locating Chance Brandt ate up over an hour.
We finally found the boy at the Westwood house of a friend named Bjorn Loftus.
Parents on vacation, gussied-up SUVs in the driveway, earsplitting music and marijuana fumes blowing through the doorway as Bjorn gaped.
He jabbered improbable lies until Milo told him to bring Chance out now. Both boys staggered out moments later.
Chance smirked. “Again?”
Reed said, “Recognize this guy?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“Who?”
“Dude I saw giving the envelope to Duboff-jackoff.” Bobbing his head and waiting for laughter that never came. “Mister look at me I’m all…” Chance’s eyes clouded as he groped for a punch line.
“Sign your name to the photo,” said Milo.
Chance’s scrawl was unsteady. Reed had him repeat it.
Bjorn Loftus let out a dope giggle. “Now you’re gonna have to testify, dude.”
Chance said, “No way,” and looked to us for confirmation.
Milo said, “We’ll be in touch.”
“Hear that, dude? You’re gonna get
Chance said, “Not unless they’re
Bjorn said,
Milo studied the signed photo. “My head feels like it’s gonna split open. Time for Advil and a sit-down on what we know and what we don’t.”
I said, “My house is ten minutes away and I’ve got an ice pack for that neck.”
“I said head, not neck.”
“I was talking whiplash, from getting jerked around.”
He and Reed laughed. “Yeah, let’s boogie over to the White House. He’s got a nice place, Moses. Cute dog, too. Maybe she can make sense of all this.”
I said, “There’s additional incentive. Fifteen thousand worth.”
CHAPTER 36
Reed and Milo sat on the leather couch. No one bounced.
Blanche nestled in Milo ’s lap. She smiled; he didn’t notice.
All eyes on the money.
Reed said, “When did Reynolds bring that to you?”
“Yesterday,” I said. “I was about to tell you when Aaron came in.”
Milo said, “Fifteen grand ain’t picnic pay. Maybe it’s time for the anthropologists. Death dogs, too.” Blanche’s ears perked. “No offense.”
Reed said, “Weir and Simone have been paying Duboff for access to the west side for something nasty? He finds out what their bribes are for and gets killed?”
“I doubt he knew, he’d have been screaming,” I said. “But they couldn’t risk his finding out.”
“Guy has free rein to the marsh, if anyone’s going to find it, he is. What if he did find out, then tried to make some extra dough?”
