“We’ll be the judge of that,” Richard said.
“You’ve already lost that privilege,” Jesse said. “She’ll be judged by the court now.”
“She’s seventeen years old,” Richard said. “She’s a minor. Nothing will come of this, I can assure you.”
“The law is clear about the penalties attached to cell-phone usage while driving.”
“And?”
“At the very least, your daughter’s right to drive is going to be suspended.”
“That’s a crock,” Portia said.
“And because she’s a three-time offender, this office is going to petition the court to have her placed on probation.”
“I’ve heard enough from this bastard,” Portia said as she stood. “I’m going after your head, Chief Stone. And you haven’t experienced the wrath of anyone like me before.”
“Have you always had head issues, Mrs. Cassidy?”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s the second time you singled out my head. I was just wondering if perhaps you had some kind of fixation.”
“There’s no talking to this asshole,” she said to her husband.
Richard Cassidy sighed.
“I suppose this isn’t over,” he said.
“You bet your sweet bippy it’s not,” Jesse said.
22
Jesse pulled his cruiser to a stop behind the orange-and-blue Water and Power truck that was parked on South Halsey Street.
He got out of his car and leaned heavily against the front fender, facing the sun, hoping to acquire even the slightest suggestion of a tan.
Oscar LaBrea appeared from the back of the house. When he spotted the cruiser, he headed to where Jesse was sunning himself.
“You looking for me,” he said.
Jesse continued to aim his face at the sun.
“Here I live in a seaside community and have no color whatsoever,” he said. “I’m trying to rectify that.”
Neither of them said anything.
After a while, LaBrea said, “Was it me you were looking for?”
“You Oscar LaBrea?”
LaBrea was a big pasty-faced man in his mid-forties. He wore yellow overalls emblazoned with the DWP logo. He had on an expensive pair of Oakley sunglasses.
“Am I in some kind of trouble,” he said.
“Not at all. I’m Jesse Stone, by the way.”
He extended his hand.
“I know who you are,” LaBrea said, taking it. “Is there something you wanted?”
“Mind if I ask you a few questions?”
Oscar shrugged.
“You read water meters for the DWP,” Jesse said.
“For the past twelve years.”
“Good job?”
“I like it.”
“Tough job?”
“Sometimes.”
“How so?”
“Restricted access. Dogs. Dissatisfied customers. That sort of thing.”
“‘Dissatisfied customers’?”
“On occasion,” LaBrea said.
“What makes for a dissatisfied customer?”
“I don’t know. People who think they’re paying too much. Who disagree with their bill.”
“Why would someone disagree with a DWP bill?”
“Any number of reasons.”
“Such as?”
“They don’t believe they used as much water as they were billed for. They think they’ve been overcharged.”
“Are they ever right about that?”
“Not often.”
“Do people who disagree with a meter reading ever contact the department and challenge those readings?”
“Sometimes.”
“What happens in a case like that?”
“They’re wrong is what happens.”
“Is it possible they could be right?”
“Not likely.”
“But possible?”
“What is it you’re saying?”
“That a meter might register higher amounts of water usage than what the customer actually purchased.”
“Are you suggesting meter tampering?”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Jesse said. “I’m fact-finding, is all.”
Oscar LaBrea stood silently for a while. Then he started walking toward his vehicle.
“Where are you going?”
“I think I don’t want to talk to you anymore,” LaBrea said.
“Why not?”
“I want to talk with my lawyer.”
“Your lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Why on earth would you want to talk with your lawyer?”
LaBrea didn’t say anything. He opened the door to his truck and climbed in. He looked back at Jesse, then started the engine and pulled away.
Jesse watched him leave.
23
The cocktail party honoring Marisol Hinton was just gathering steam when Jesse stopped by.
A collection of actors, assorted movie brass, and several members of the staff and crew had been invited to the small gathering that Carter Hansen was hosting at Noah’s Ark, a colorful theme park of a saloon located on the Paradise waterfront.
The locals referred to it as the “twofer bar.” Noah’s offered two drinks for the price of one; two appetizers, both soup and salad; two sides with each entree; and a pair of desserts as well.
The staff and crew had converged at the bar, taking advantage of Hansen’s largesse. Noah’s mojitos were very much in demand, but the prop mistress had seductively convinced the bartender to concoct several pitchers of Long Island iced tea, which were disappearing fast.
