Ione Gamble finally said, “You seem to know the way— sort of.”
“Wu and his wife used to live in Santa Monica.”
“And you?”
“In Malibu—Paradise Cove.”
“Where the rumrunners used to unload,” she said. “During Prohibition.”
“I missed that by about fifty years.”
“You were there in the seventies, then?”
“In the late seventies,” he said. “For a while.”
“How long’ve you lived in London?”
“Nearly five years.”
“You like it?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Listen,” she said. “No matter how much they bitch, I want you with me every second we’re there.”
“You won’t say anything.”
“How d’you know?”
“Because he’ll have both hands in your mouth.”
Dr. Melvin Unger didn’t want any spectators. Ione Gamble told him that unless Mr. Durant were present, her impacted wisdom tooth would stay right where it was. Dr. Unger, a pale, very thin man with soft brown eyes that were either extremely sad or extremely kind,
remained adamant for nearly ten seconds before he relented and agreed that Durant could stay.
A practitioner of four-handed dentistry, Dr. Unger let his dental technician inject the sodium Pentothal. Ione Gamble was now almost horizontal on the dental chair. Just as the needle went into a vein in her left arm, she was asked to count backwards from ten. She reached six before she went under and out.
The extraction of the impacted wisdom tooth took less than ten minutes. Durant calculated that Dr. Unger, working at top speed, could gross around $7,200 an hour. Ione Gamble was still out when Durant helped the dental technician half walk, half carry her into the quiet room where they eased her onto a narrow couch.
The technician handed Durant a box of Kleenex and said, “There shouldn’t be any more bleeding, but if there is, give her some of these.”
“What about pain?”
“No pain,” she said. “Just some mild discomfort.”
“When can she eat?”
“An hour or two from now. But I’d suggest soup, medium warm.
Later this evening, anything she wants within reason.”
After the technician left, Durant sat down next to Ione Gamble, watched her for several seconds, then said, “Ione?”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes still closed.
“Did anyone borrow your car New Year’s Eve?”
“No.”
“Did you go out to Billy Rice’s house twice that day—once in the late afternoon or evening and again early the next morning?”
“No.”
“Did you shoot Billy Rice?”
“No.”
“Do you know who did?”
“No,” she said just as the dental technician bustled in and asked,
“She coming around?”
“Seems to be,” Durant said.
“Let’s have a look.” She bent over Ione Gamble and, using a voice she would use on someone hard of hearing, said, “Miss Gamble? Can you hear me?”
Ione Gamble opened her eyes and said, “Is it over yet?”
The technician smiled. “All over and everything’s fine.”
“God, that Pentothal’s wonderful stuff.”
The technician beamed. “Isn’t it, though?”
Gamble turned her head and found Durant leaning against a wall. “I say anything?”
