The Gentlemen's Hour

connections are connected, and it’s not just linear—each line reaches out in multiple directions to other lines. It’s what that old yuppie concept of “networking” is all about, and in a city as small and tight as San Diego, the network is close and dense.

Where in that network do you bring this information? he asks her. You bring it to the DA’s office—where is the district attorney in that matrix? Bring it to the cops—same thing. A judge—ditto, ditto.

“Certainly we can take this to Alan,” Petra says. “I mean, we have to take it to Alan, it’s potentially exculpatory evidence for a client. For you, as well.”

She sees the look on his face and says, “Good lord, Boone, you don’t suspect Alan?”

He doesn’t suspect that Burke is involved in any sketchy real-estate deal, but Alan is definitely woven into the San Diego power network. And Petra doesn’t know the leverage that can be worked on a guy like Alan—all of a sudden the wiring in his office building is out of code, a slam-dunk motion in court goes the other way, a guy he defended five years ago claims that Alan suborned him to perjury . . .

It’s Chinatown, Pete. It’s Chinatown.

“So what do you want to do?” Petra asks.

“We’ll turn it over to Alan in the morning,” Boone says. “In the meantime, let me lay a little pipe.”

“Really, Boone, these metaphors.”

If you take the info to one source, he explains, it might get buried. Take it to two or three, you improve your chances.

“But to whom do you take it?” she asks.

Depends in whom you trust.

127

Nicole finally calls him back.

“Where the fuck,” Bill asks, “have you been?”

“Out,” she says. “Listen, I wasn’t even going to call you . . . I . . .”

She starts crying, for Chrissakes.

“Nicole,” Bill says, “why don’t you come over and we’ll talk about this? We can work it out. You can have anything you want, I swear. Come on, we’ve meant a lot to each other. Do this for me, come over.”

There’s a long hesitation, and then she says, “Okay. I’m on my way.”

Ten minutes later his bell rings and he opens the door.

It isn’t Nicole.

“Hello,” Jones says.

128

“I shouldn’t be meeting you,” Johnny says, “outside the house.”

Yeah, but he does. He meets Boone beneath the pylons under Crystal Pier. Meets him because old habits die hard and old friendships are hard to let go, even when the old friend planted a blade somewhere around your lumbar vertebrae.

“I appreciate it,” Boone says.

“You burned me, Boone.”

“I did your homework for you,” Boone answers. “If you’d done it first—”

“Fuck you,” Johnny says. “That kid is guilty as sin and now he’s boo-hooing you and you’re all buying his act. So why am I here?”

“That break on the Schering case—”

“Did Dan Nichols pay for it?”

“It had nothing to do with Nichols,” Boone says. He tells Johnny about Nicole, Bill Blasingame, and Paradise Homes.

When he’s done, Johnny says, “So you’re telling me that Phil Schering banging Donna Nichols is just a coincidence.”

“There’s no coincidence,” Boone says. “Donna Nichols was having an affair with a guy who was involved in a real-estate scandal gone bad. The guy got killed, probably by Blasingame. Billy Boy has at least as much motive, Johnny. Bring him in and make him give you an alibi for that night.”

“I know my job, Boone,” Johnny says. “How do I know this story isn’t total bullshit, seeing as how you’ve gone all gullible these days? Let me get this right—Junior isn’t a murderer, but Senior is? I love it.”

“I have the records.”

“Rewind?”

“I have the records,” Boone says. “Nicole gave them to me.”

“And you didn’t bring them along because . . .”

This occasions one of those awkward silences. Which Johnny breaks by saying, “Because you trust me, sort of.”

“It’s not you, JB.”

“Noooo,”

Johnny says, “it’s the baaaad department, right? Boone Daniels was the one shining light of purity and he had to leave, lest he be corrupted by the rest of us. Fuck you, Boone. You think you’re the only honest man in the world?”

Boone names three names he saw in Nicole’s papers.

“You take those names in to your lieutenant,” he says, “what happens?”

“Then why come to me at all?” Johnny asks.

“Because you’re taking the wrong angle on the Schering murder.”

“Just like the Kuhio case.”

Boone shrugs.

“You’re unfreaking believable lately,” Johnny says. “Everyone’s wrong but you. We have the wrong guy for Kuhio. We have the wrong guy for Schering. . . . Hey, Boone, there couldn’t be a little self-interest involved here, could there? I mean, you get Dan Nichols off the hook, you wiggle free, too, don’t you? You don’t have to try to sleep at night knowing that you fingered a guy to get murdered.”

Boone’s fingers curl into fists.

Johnny sees it.

“God, would I like to, Boone,” he says. “But my career is already fucked enough without a fight with a civilian in my jacket. But back off before I realize I don’t give a fuck.”

Boone unclenches his hands and steps back.

“Smart, B.”

“You’ll pick up Blasingame?”

“I’ll think about it.”

They both know he’ll do more than think about it, because they both know that Boone has maneuvered him into doing more than thinking about it. Johnny Banzai is a good cop, and now that he knows he has another suspect, he can’t act as if he doesn’t.

“Be careful on this one, Johnny,” Boone says.

“Ride your own wave,” Johnny says. “I’ll ride mine.”

Boone watches him walk away.