We did. The big black man stood close to us. The jockey stood away a little and at an angle. The big guy was muscle. The jockey would be the gun hand. Slim patted us down and stepped away.
'Okay,' he said.
The whole first floor of the pyramid was without walls. Seen from the inside the glass had a bluish tint, as if we were standing inside an aquarium. In the center of the space was an open fire pit with a stainless steel hood and stainless steel chimney. There was a big fire in the fireplace and a lot of air-conditioning to overcome it. In the far lefthand corner was a small glass elevator with stainless steel trim. The vast space was furnished as a living room, with stainless steel and blue leather furniture, and several big television screens suspended in midair. It was bigger than O'Hare Airport, but not as warm. There was a black man sitting beyond the fireplace in a stainless steel and blue leather Barcalounger. Slim pointed us out to him. Then he and his helpers went and stood near the front door.
Leon didn't get up when we walked over. He was a taut, middle-sized black man with noticeable cheekbones, wearing rimless glasses. His graying hair was cut in a short afro, and he wore a long, blue-patterned dashiki. His feet were bare. There was a prison gang tattoo on his left forearm. He and Hawk looked at each other for a long time. 'Who is Emily Gordon?' Leon said softly. His voice was flat and controlled and careful, as if he thought about every word.
'You were with her in Boston,' I said. 'In 1974.'
'Never heard of her.'
'You let us in here,' I said, 'so you could find out what we knew about her. and you.'
Leon's gaze was steady. He made no comment. Hawk appeared to be paying no attention to either of us or anything else. But I knew that he was taking in the room. If the balloon went up, he'd know where he was.
'I'll make it easy,' I said. 'We know that you and she were an item. We know you went to Boston and she went with you, or after you, it's not clear which. And she was in a bank during a holdup and got shot.'
Leon neither spoke nor moved. There was about him a sense of contained energy that could explode if jostled. I jostled it some more.
'What do you know about the Dread Scott Brigade?'
'Nothing.'
'Know a guy named Abner Fancy?' I said. 'Called himself Shaka?'
'No.'
'Bunny Lombard?'
'No.'
'How about a really bad asshole named Coyote?'
'Nothing about him,' Leon said.
I glanced around the vast, inhospitable room.
'This the house that dope built?' I said.
'I came into some money,' Leon said.
'A lot.'
'Yes,' he said. 'A lot.'
'You have any idea who shot Emily Gordon?' I said.
'Don't know,' he said. 'Don't care.'
I took out my card and handed it to him.
'You think of anything,' I said, 'give me a shout.'
He took the card and looked at it and tore it in half and dropped it on the floor.
'Or not,' I said.
Leon gestured at Slim. 'You and Tom can go now,' he said.
Hawk looked at him for a moment. 'When you in the joint, Coyote,' Hawk said. 'How many guys you punk for?'
Leon's face got tighter, but he didn't speak. Slim and his associates led us back to the car, where, as soon as I got there, I opened the trunk and took out the two guns and gave one to Hawk. I saw the slim guy tense a little. The jockey licked his lips. Hawk and I got in the car and drove away.
31
We were driving back down the hill on Beverly Glen.
'Leon ain't pushing loose joints in pool rooms,' Hawk said.
'Unless he pushed an awful lot of them,' I said. 'What do you think?'
'We didn't learn much,' Hawk said. ' 'Cept that he knew Emily Gordon. He pretty much admitted that the minute he let us in.'
'Had to ask,' I said.
' 'Course you did,' Hawk said. 'Can't know what's going to happen before you go in.'
