“Do you know who I am, Paris?”
“No sir. I mean, I figure you’re rich and all, but I never heard’a you that I know.”
“My last name is Wexler.”
I squinted and then shrugged.
“No sir. I don’t remember that name in any of this.”
“My daughter and son have been murdered. I believe that this man you’re chasing has something to do with the people who killed them. So you can see why I’m suspicious about anyone coming to her sublet home or anyone looking for Bartholomew Perry.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Do you have anything else to tell me?”
“No sir. All I know is that Milo Sweet hired me, then he told me where to find Bartholomew, I found what you tell me is your daughter’s address and came to see if I could get a lead.”
Silence filled the room. My ears got terribly hot, burning hot. I had spun my lie and now all I could do was hope the line would lead me out of there.
“How much is this Milo Sweet paying you?”
“Hundred and fifty if we find BB. Ten dollars a day for our trouble if we don’t.”
“I’ll give you ten thousand dollars if you find him. Will you work for me?”
I looked over at Louis, then at his fist wrapped around my arm.
“Let him go, Louis,” the king commanded.
The brute did as he was told.
“Sure,” I said. “Yeah. Hell yeah.”
“You would betray your employer?”
“The way I look at it, Milo gave up my trust when he didn’t tell me how serious this problem was. He knows, I’ve told him before, that I never wanna get messed up with any problem got a killer in it somewhere.”
“But you would do it for me?”
“The most money Milo ever offered me was for this job here. I’m already in it so why not go for the big payday?”
Maestro Wexler studied me then. He was a man who demanded allegiance from his employees and I was obviously not the faithful sort. But he needed me. Why harm me when I could still be of some use?
“Louis, give Mr. Minton your number and drive him back to his car.”
“No,” I said.
“What is it, Mr. Minton? Do you require a retainer?”
“A retainer sounds nice but that’s not what I was talkin’ about. I already been on a ride with this mothahfuckah right here. I don’t need that again.”
Maestro laughed.
“I’ve told you about your manner, Louis. Bradford.”
“Yes sir,” the bookkeeper intoned. He walked into my line of vision.
“This is Bradford,” Maestro said. “He’s my private secretary.”
I nodded and so did the secretary. I liked him then. Maybe it was because he was the only man in the room who didn’t seem to pose some kind of threat. But I also thought that he resembled me. Quiet and withdrawn from the brutish world. I was glad to have him in the room.
“Take Mr. Minton where he wants to go and give him a thousand dollars from petty cash.”
“Yes sir,” Bradford said. And then to me, “This way, Mr. Minton.”
Eric piped up then.
“You want I should go with ’em?” the scrawny henchman asked.
“No, Eric. Mr. Minton works for me now.”
I followed Bradford from the room, happy to leave the company of madmen.
IN THE LIGHT OF THE KITCHEN I could see that Bradford’s pants and coat were darned here and there. His dress shoes had a high shine but they were shapeless from many years of use. His face was what I can only call a faded white. He had a long nose and an accent that wasn’t quite English.
He entered a walk-in pantry and came out with a cardboard cigar box that held three stacks of cash. Half of one of these heaps was the thousand dollars the king had earmarked for me.
After paying me and returning the cash box to its unlocked closet, Bradford led me through a back door and down a series of stairs toward the vast garage. We got into an old Bentley and drove down a driveway that was a quarter mile or more.
We were on a mountain. I could see the lights of Los Angeles as we descended streets that had no sidewalks or curbs. That was how the rich lived in L.A. They didn’t want people to be able to get to them easily, and once they got there they had to do their business and leave because there was no place to dawdle.
