In any age, the station would have seemed misplaced in Los Angeles.
Freshly painted and clean, it was doubly out of place in the grunge
that had been spreading like a malignancy through the city during the
nineties.
'Come on, come look, look,' Arkadian said, and headed toward the south
end of the building.
'Poor guy's gonna blow out an artery in the brain over this,' Luther
said.
'Somebody should tell him it's not fashionable to give a damn these
days,' Jack said.
A low and menacing rumble of thunder rolled through the distended
sky.
Looking at the dark clouds, Luther said, 'Weatherman predicted it
wouldn't rain today.'
'Maybe it wasn't thunder. Maybe somebody finally blew up city hall.'
'You think? Well, if the place was full of politicians,' Luther said,
'we should take the rest of the day off, find a bar, do some
celebrating.'
'Come on, officers,' Arkadian called to them. He had reached the south
corner of the building, near where they had parked their patrol car.
'Look at this, I want you to see this, I want you to see my
bathrooms.'
'His bathrooms?' Luther said.
Jack laughed. 'Hell, you got anything better to do?'
'A lot safer than chasing bad guys,' Luther said, following Arkadian.
Jack glanced at the Lexus again. Nice machine. Zero to sixty in how
many seconds? Eight? Seven? Must handle like a dream.
The driver had gotten out of the car and was standing beside it. Jack
noticed little about the guy, only that he was wearing a loose-fitting,
double-breasted Armani suit.
The Lexus, on the other hand, had wire wheels and chrome guards around
the wheel wells. Reflections of storm clouds moved slowly across its
windshield and made mysterious smoky patterns in the depths of its
jewel-green finish.
Sighing, Jack followed Luther past the two open bays of the repair
garage. The first stall was empty, but a gray BMW was on the hydraulic
lift in the second space. A young Asian man in mechanic's coveralls
was at work on the car. Tools and supplies were neatly racked along
the walls, floor to ceiling, and the two bays looked cleaner than the
average kitchen in a fourstar restaurant.
At the corner of the building stood a pair of softdrink vending
machines. They purred and clinked as if formulating and bottling the
beverages within their own guts.
Around the corner were the men's and women's rest rooms, where Arkadian
had opened both doors. 'Take a look, go ahead--I want you to see my
bathrooms.'
Both small rooms had white ceramic-tile floors and walls, white
commodes, white swing-top waste cans, white sinks, gleaming chrome
fixtures, and large mirrors above the sinks.
