“I can’t live the rest of my life wondering if she’s going to find out.”
“How’s she going to find out? You’re taking her out of the country. It’s a big world out there. What are the chances of running into someone who-lo and behold-knows what went on? You got what, a handful of people in on the story, all of ’em on your payroll. I wouldn’t sweat it if I were you.”
He turned and looked at her. “I live with you all these years and this is how you think?”
“It’s called common sense. Using the old noggin. Looking before you leap.”
“It’s a rationalization. Finding a way to save your own skin at someone else’s expense.”
“It’s not costing her anything. How’s she going to know?”
And that was the question she left him with, last thing out of her mouth before he helped her carry her bags down to the car and watched her disappear down the drive. End of Lola. Over and done.
Through the tinted windows of the limousine, the quality of the light changed, and he realized Tomasso had slowed at the mouth of the parking garage and was nosing the limo down the incline. Dante returned the report to his briefcase and idly watched the concrete walls slide by, support posts, low ceiling, the exit ramp coming up on his right. Tomasso pulled to the curb near the entrance to Macy’s. The backside elevators to the office floors were located to the right, often unnoticed by shoppers as they passed the spot, intent on something else.
Hubert got out on the passenger side and came around to the rear to open the door for him. As Dante emerged from the car, the elevator doors opened and a young woman stepped out. Dante took in the sight of her- jeans, black turtleneck, and a big slouchy shoulder bag-with a curious sense of familiarity. It was unusual to see anyone in the parking garage at so early an hour. Hubert shifted his weight, automatically, blocking her access to his boss. The woman stopped and Dante saw recognition flicker in her eyes as she looked from his big bodyguard to the limousine. Dante couldn’t remember ever seeing her, but she seemed to know him.
He was about to move past her when she spoke up. “Could I talk to you?”
“About what?”
Hubert said, “Miss…”
“You’re Lorenzo Dante. I was just in your office looking for you.”
“Who are you?”
Hubert was saying, “Please, Miss. Could you step away from the car…” These were standard phrases he’d learned. Anyone hearing him would think he knew English well, but as it turned out, in his job, fluency wasn’t required unless it came to guns and hand-to-hand combat, at which he was truly gifted.
“Hubert, would you cool it? I’m having a conversation here.”
He said, “Sorry, boss,” but kept a watchful eye on the interchange.
“I’m Kinsey Millhone. I’m a friend of Pinky’s.”
“What’s that have to do with me?”
“Last night Pinky and your brother got into a shoot-out and Pinky’s wife was hit in the crossfire. She’s in bad shape and Pinky’s worried sick about her medical bills.”
“I’m not seeing the relevance.”
“Pinky had a set of photographs to give you, only your brother got there first and destroyed both the prints and the negatives.”
“Photographs of what?”
“Cappi and Len Priddy chatting together in a parked car on six different occasions. Your brother sold you out.”
Dante stared at her for a moment while he decided what to do and then he said, “Get in.”
He stood aside while she slung her shoulder bag into the back of the limousine and slid in after it, shifting both herself and her bag over to the long side seat. When she was settled, he ducked in and took his usual place. To Tomasso, he said, “Take a drive. I’ll tell you when it’s time to bring us back.”
Before Tomasso pulled away, he triggered the mechanism that closed the panel between the front seat and the rear of the car. By then, Hubert was back in the front seat. Dante was intent on the woman sitting to his left. She was somewhere in her thirties, more girl than woman as far as he was concerned. He couldn’t decide what to make of her. She was small-boned with a ragged mop of dark hair she must have chopped off herself. Hazel eyes, her nose ever so slightly crooked. He could tell she’d been banged up, but he couldn’t imagine why. He said, “How do you know Pinky? You don’t look like the lowlife type.”
“I’m a private eye. He gave me the first set of key picks I ever owned and I owe him for that. I’m also fond of him, rascal that he is.”
“And he hired you to do what?”
“Not him. The man engaged to Audrey Vance.”
He was getting it. “You’re the one took my money and gave it to the cops. You and her landlady up in San Luis Obispo. That was a bad thing you did.”
“Hey, you sent guys to break into my studio. You violated my privacy and that’s just as bad.”
He couldn’t believe she had the nerve to sound indignant when she was the one who’d wronged him. He nearly smiled but thought better of it. “We’re talking about a hundred grand you cost me.”
She shrugged. “The courier service handed it over to Audrey’s landlady. Why am I to blame?”
“Wait a minute. Now I know where I heard your name. I read about you in the paper. You blew the whistle on Audrey.”
“What was I supposed to do? I saw her steal underwear and stuff it in her bag.”
“You could have looked the other way. Audrey was a peach. She worked for me for years.”
“I’m surprised she wasn’t better at her job.”
“You’ve also been following a friend of mine and it’s upsetting her. Where do you get off pulling shit like that?”
“Oh, right. Helping Hearts, Healing Hands. That’s a crock,” she said. “You want to talk about Cappi or go on trading recriminations? You ask me, we’re even.”
“You got a hell of a nerve. Why’d you come to me with bullshit about Pinky? What the fuck do I care? The guy’s a punk.”
“He needs help. I thought maybe we could work a trade.”
“A
“Sure. I’ll tell you what I know and you pay his medical bills and living expenses until Dodie’s back on her feet.”
He stared at her with amazement. “I’m a bad man. Didn’t anybody tell you?”
“You don’t seem bad to me.”
“I’m not someone you come to with a deal,” he said. “That’s the point.”
She looked at him with… he wouldn’t call it insolence, but maybe cockiness. “Why not?”
“Why
“Len Priddy’s worse.”
“Than Cappi? How you figure?”
“Len’s a cop, sworn to uphold the law. If he’s corrupt, then what happens to the rest of us?”
“Oh, I see. You figure I’m corrupt to begin with so what difference does it make.”
“Not at all. I suspect you play straight and you’re a man of your word.”
“Based on what?”
“Based on the fact that you have power and you’ve had it for years. You don’t need to dick around.”
“Nice talk, but it’s not going to help. You’ve got nothing to trade. Cappi’s snitching is not exactly late-breaking news. I’ve been suspicious about him since he got out of Soledad.”
“Well, now you know for sure. I saw the photographs.”
“Your word against his. You said he destroyed them all, so where’s your proof?”
“Doesn’t matter. You won’t be taking him to court, so the evidence is irrelevant.”
“Two corrections. A, you don’t know what I’ll do with him, and B, you don’t have a clue what’s relevant. Tell me something I don’t know and maybe we’ll do business. Believe it or not, I’m fond of Pinky myself.”
She held his gaze and he could tell there was something more she wanted to say. She was debating the wisdom of it and for the first time, he was truly interested.
“Come on. Out with it.”
