'Sure. How much can you get?'
'Two hundred and fifty thou. I'm committed for a hundred to someone else. You can have the other one fifty.'
'Get me a hundred even. Ninety from the maturing bonds, and I'll wire you ten thousand tomorrow. Oregon or the West Indies?'
'Oregon. Sherry's handling transactions while I'm gone.'
'How long are you planning to be away?'
'A week, maybe longer. Depends on the fishing and how
long it takes for the rich folk to get on each other's nerves. By the way, we got your thank-you note for the coho. Good stuff, huh?'
'That was terrific salmon, Lou. We invited friends over and barbecued it like you suggested.'
'Good. You should see the bluefin we've been hauling in. Three-hundred-pounders with meat like purple butter. Got a plate of it sashimied right here in front of me. I'll save you some fillets.'
'That would be great, Lou.'
'Whoa!' he called out. 'Pardon me, Alex, some kind of action starboard. Jesus God, look at that monster/' He took a sip of something and came back on the line, swallowing. 'Haul it in, Jimbo! Pardon me, again. Everything okay by you?'
'Just great.'
'Terrific. Then I'd best be signing off and heading down to charm the customers.'
'Bye, Lou. Think of me over crab cocktails.'
'Conch,' he corrected. 'Marinated in lime juice. Eat it; then play Miles Davis with the shell.'
A beep came on the line.
'That your end or mine?' he asked.
'Mine. Call waiting.'
'I'll let you go, Alex. Roger, over and out.'
I depressed the button and connected to the waiting call.
'Alex? This is Milo, and I gotta make it quick.'
'Milo! Good to hear from you. What's up?'
'I've been talking to someone who says he knows you. Fellow by the name of James Wilson Cadmus.'
'Jamey! Where is he?'
'So you do know him?'
'Sure I do. What's-'
'He said something about calling you this morning.'
'Yes, he did.'
'What time was that?'
'Around three-fifteen.'
'What did he have to say?'
He hesitated. Milo is my best friend. I hadn't heard from him for longer than usual and had started to wonder about it. Under different circumstances, I would have welcomed his call. But his tone of voice was far from friendly, and I became acutely aware of what he did for a living.
'It was a crisis call,' I hedged. 'He wanted help.'
'With what?'
'Milo, what the hell is this about?'
'Can't explain, pal. Catch you later.'
'Wait a second - is the kid okay?'
It was his turn to hesitate. I could visualise him running his hands over his big, scarred face.
'Alex' - he sighed - 'I really gotta go.'
Click.
It was no way to treat a friend, and I was stiff with anger. Then I remembered the case he'd been working on, and anxiety washed over me like toxic surf. I called his extension at the West L.A. station and, after getting the runaround from the police bureaucracy, learned nothing more than that he was at a crime scene. Another call to Canyon Oaks elicited barely muted hostility from Mainwaring's secretary. I was starting to feel like a pariah.
The thought that Jamey might be mixed up with Milo's current case was sickening. But at the same time it gave me some direction'. The case had received lots of press coverage, and if Milo wouldn't tell me what was going on, perhaps the media would.
I reached for the radio and spun the dial, tuning in each of the two all-news AM stations in turn. Not a word. Further spinning produced nothing but audio garbage. The TV news was all blow-dried hair and moist white teeth - happy talk and phoney ad libs interspersed with hefty servings of murder and mayhem on blue plate special.
Plenty of horrors but not what I was looking for.
I spied the morning Times rolled up on the desk and seized it. Nothing. I knew two people on the paper, the chess editor and Ned Biondi at the Metro Desk. I found the reporter's number on my Rolodex and dialled it.
'Doc! How the hell are you?'
'Just fine, Ned. How about yourself?'
'Super. Ann Marie just started grad school at Cornell. Education.'
'That's terrific, Ned. Next time you talk to her give her my best.'
'Will do. We couldn't have done it without you.'
'She's a great kid.'
'No debate from me on that. So, what kind of scoop do you have for me today? The last one wasn't half bad.'
'No scoops,' I said. 'Only questions.'
'Ask away.'
'Ned, have you heard about anything breaking on the Lavender Slasher case?'
'Not a damn thing.' His voice edged a notch up the register. 'Something drift your way?'
'Nothing.'
'Just random curiosity, huh?'
'Something like that.'
'Doc,' he implored, 'that case has been bone dry for a month. If you know something, don't hold back. Prick teasing went out with the Pill.'
'I really don't know anything, Ned.'
'Uh-huh.'
'Sorry to bother you. Forget I called.'
'Sure,' he said edgily. 'My mind's a goddamn blank.'
'Bye, Ned.'
'Sayonara, Doc'
Neither of us believed for a moment that the issue had died with the conversation.
Robin came home in a great mood, showered, put on jewellery, and changed into a slinky little black dress. I dressed in a tan linen suit, blue pinpoint oxford shirt with a white spread collar, navy and claret tie, and calfskin loafers. Very stylish, but I felt like a zombie. Arm in arm we walked out onto the terrace and down to the Seville.
She settled in the passenger seat, took my hand, and squeezed it. Reaching up, she opened the sunroof and let warm California air flow over her face. She was in fine spirits, fairly glowing with anticipation. I leaned over and
kissed her cheek. She smiled and lifted her lips to mine.
The kiss was warm and prolonged. I mustered all the passion at my disposal but was unable to clear Milo's call from consciousness. Dark, disturbing thoughts kept peeking around the empty corners of my mind. I struggled to contain them and, feeling like a louse for failing, vowed not to ruin the evening.
I started the engine and slipped Laurendo Almeida on the tape deck. Soft Brazilian music filled the car, and I started the engine and tried to summon forth imagery of carnivals and string bikinis.
We dined at a dark, saffron-saturated place in Westwood Village, where the waitresses wore belly dancer
