“Maybe Franco’s starting his own business,” I said. “Maybe that’s as high as it goes.”
“What about that gut feeling about Hammond,” Samuelson said. “The dinner you were going to bet at Perino’s?”
“I thought it was a chili dog at Pink’s,” I said.
“That’s when I thought I’d lose,” Samuelson said.
I shook my head. “Maybe I’m wrong on that. I’ve been doing this too long to think I don’t make mistakes. Hammond is guilty as hell of something. I don’t know what. But whether it’s got to do with Franco…” I shrugged.
“Well,” Samuelson said, “we’ll start chasing paper. If Felton was paying Franco regularly, the money came from someplace. I’ll have someone start on that in the morning. I don’t think I’ve got enough to start digging into Summit’s books. All I got is your guess. I’m not sure the courts in California are willing to accept that.”
“No wonder,” I said, “there’s a crisis in our courts.”
Chapter 19
CANDY AND I were lunching at the Mandarin in Beverly Hills with a guy named Frederics who was the news director at KNBS. Candy and Frederics both had minced squab. I was working on Mongolian lamb with scallions and drinking Kirin beer. Everything was elegant and cool, including Frederics, who was slicker than the path to hell. His dark hair was parted in the middle and slicked back. He had on a white-on-white shirt with a small round collar and a narrow tie with muted stripes and a white crocheted V-neck sweater tucked into tight Ralph Lauren jeans. The jeans were worn over lizard-skin cowboy boots. I was trying to figure out where he carried his money because no wallet would fit in his pants pocket.
Frederics was drinking white wine with his squab. He took a sip, put the glass down, and said to Candy, “So, after talking with Mark Samuelson and others, the station management-and. I agree with them-feels that there’s really no further story, and no further danger to you. Mark says you agree with that, Mr. Spenser.”
The minced squab was finger food, served in a lettuce leaf, that you picked up and nibbled. Candy nibbled on hers while I answered.
“You’re not the Frederics of Hollywood, are you?”
Slick as he was, Frederics was, however, not a kidder. He shook his head briefly. “Do you agree with Mark?” he asked.
“Mark, huh?” I looked at Candy. She was still nibbling. “Yeah, I agree with Samuelson that she’s probably not in any danger. I’m not sure what I think about there being a story.”
“Well, that’s a news judgment we’ll have to make,” Frederics said.
“Yeah.”
“So we’re taking you off the story, my love,” he said to Candy.
“It’s still there, John. It’s a story that we should be staying on. There’s more to it than the police think. Isn’t there, Spenser?”
“Of course he’d say so,” Frederics said. “His fee is in the balance.” He looked at me. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t blame you, but you’re hardly a disinterested observer.”
I asked, “Where do you carry your wallet?”
He said, “Excuse me?”
I said, “Your wallet. Where do you keep it? Your pants are too tight to carry it on your hip.”
He said, “Spenser, I invited you to lunch because Candy asked me to. I see no reason to be uncivil.”
“Yeah, of course. It’s just that you’re so damn adorable that I’m jealous. And maybe a little because she busted her ovaries on this thing, and you won’t let her clean it up.”
“That’s a business decision,” Frederics said. “And a matter of professional judgment.” He looked at Candy. “The judgment has been made and it’s final.”
I shut up. It was Candy’s career, not mine. She looked at the table and didn’t speak.
Frederics said to me, “We’ll pay you through this week. You’ve done good work and you deserve a bonus. Expenses, everything. Take a few days and have a good time before you go home.”
“I resign,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“I resign. Now. Today. Now. This minute. I don’t work for you anymore.”
“You don’t want the money?”
“Boy, you do have news instincts, don’t you,” I said.
“You don’t want it?”
“That’s true,” I said.
We were all silent. At the end of the lunch Frederics asked Candy if she had a ride. She said she did. Then Frederics signed the check and we left. I never did see where he carried his wallet. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe if you’re that slick, you just signed everything. Somebody always had a pen.
Candy said, “You drive.”
I said, “You want to go someplace and get drunk?” She said yes.
