'Thank you,' I said. 'How about a woman named Bunny Lombard?'
'Bunny?' Samuelson said. 'Only name I got,' I said.
Samuelson leaned forward and tapped his computer keys. 'I feel like I'm on a fucking quiz show,' he said.
'You are an absolute model of transcontinental cooperation,' I said.
Samuelson studied the computer a little longer, then he shook his head.
'Nix on Bunny,' he said. 'Nothing.'
'I got plenty of that,' I said.
'And deserve every bit of it,' Samuelson said.
'I may as well go see Leon.'
'You got any backup? This is a tough coast. Leon may be a tough guy.'
I nodded. 'I have backup,' I said.
'He any good?' Samuelson said.
'Captain,' I said. 'You have no idea.'
30
It was one of those days in L.A. There was enough breeze to keep the smog diluted, and the sun was bright and pleasant, shining down on the flowering trees and blond hair. At quarter till two we were heading up Beverly Glen. At the top we turned left onto Mulholland and went along the crest of the hill with the San Fernando Valley spread out below us to the right, orderly and smog-free.
Leon Holton's house was built onto a hillside at the end of a long driveway that slanted off Mulholland so that the house overlooked the Valley. When we pulled up to the security gate and rang the bell, a voice on the speakerphone said, 'Yeah?'
'We're here to see Leon Holton,' I said. 'Emily Gordon sent us.'
There was a long silence, then the intercom buzzed and the security barrier swung open. We drove another hundred yards and parked in a circular driveway outside. The house in front of us was some sort of glass pyramid with a wide double door recessed into the front. The door was painted turquoise. To the left, built into the down slope toward the valley, was a full-sized basketball court made of some kind of green composition from which tennis courts are sometimes built. A red, white, and blue basketball sat on the ground near midcourt. A slim black man with a small patch of beard under his lower lip came to the door as we got out of the car.
'I'd like to see some ID, please,' he said.
'We're not cops,' I said.
The slim guy was wearing a black Armani suit and a black silk T-shirt. He glanced quickly over his shoulder into the house. Then he turned back and stared at us for a time.
'Getting a little scared?' I said to Hawk.
'Chilled,' Hawk said. 'The man's stare is chilling.'
'Who's this Emily Gordon?' the slim man said.
'You Leon?' I said.
'No. What's this shit about Emily whosis?'
'We'll need to talk with Leon about that,' I said.
The slim guy looked at us some more. Hawk and I bore up as best we could. Finally, the slim guy said, 'Wait here,' and turned and disappeared into the ridiculous glass pyramid. We waited. In a few minutes he came back out, and with him was backup. There was a little white guy with big hands who looked like he might have been a jockey once, and a 300-pound black man with very little body fat who stood about 6'8'.
'If there's trouble,' I murmured to Hawk, 'you take him.'
'Might be better,' Hawk said, 'we run like rabbits.'
'We need to search you,' the slim guy said, 'before you go in.'
'We each have a gun,' I said.
'Can't bring in no gun,' the slim man said.
'We'll lock them in the trunk,' I said.
'I'll do it,' Slim said. 'Pop the trunk.'
I did.
'Now, first, White Guy, take the gun out and hold it in two fingers and hand it to me.'
I did and he took it, and, holding it in his left hand, he went around to Hawk.
'Now you, bro.'
Hawk gave him his gun. Slim put both guns in the trunk.
'Okay,' he said. 'Step out, put your hands on the roof.'
