I nodded. He had pronounced Unidad Revolucionaria Nacional Guatemalteca perfectly. I felt a little foolish for underestimating him earlier. I said, “That makes a lot of sense.”
He brushed bits of food off his potbelly, slid out of the booth, and stood up. Looking down at Harper, he said, “You ready?”
Harper started to go for his wallet. “I guess so.”
I said, “Don’t worry about the check.”
Russo said, “We won’t.”
11
The next day was Haley’s birthday. It was the first thing on my mind when I opened my eyes that morning. I ached at the thought. I probably would have rolled over and gone back to sleep in self-defense, except I didn’t want Simon coming over with a cup of french roast at three in the afternoon. So, although it took a few minutes to summon the gumption, I got up. I decided the time had come to go see Haley.
After a shave and shower, I put on my best black suit. I walked across the property to the garage and got into her Bentley. As I waited for the gates to open at the end of the driveway, I saw Teru standing in the distance. He wore his usual green shirt and trousers, and a pair of black rubber boots that came up nearly to his knees. He was sending smoke signals skyward from his pipe and spraying water from a hose onto a flowerbed. I saw a little rainbow in the mist around him. I realized he was watching me. The gates were open and I drove out. I didn’t wave good-bye.
They must have picked me up outside the estate, but I was in my own little fog of grief. I didn’t notice until I had already turned south on the Pacific Coast Highway and had gone nearly all the way through Corona del Mar. I glanced in the mirror as I drove by the Five Crowns restaurant, and there they were, three cars back in that same black Suburban.
The anger came back all of a sudden. It drove away the grief. It seemed to be my only other setting. I decided it might feel good to do something about the guys behind me, so after I passed Cameo Shores and the shopping center, I turned left at the light toward the upper parking lot for Crystal Cove State Park. I paid the ranger lady with the Smokey the Bear hat, and she raised the traffic bar. I drove in about one hundred feet, then stopped. I shifted into reverse and waited.
The Suburban pulled up to the kiosk about a minute later. After the men had paid and driven past the upraised bar, I stepped on the accelerator and moved in reverse. About a second later, I was right in front of them. With the kiosk on their left, the curb on their right, and the bar already down behind them, they had nowhere to go.
They got out.
I got out.
We met on a little gravel-covered area beside the driveway.
One of them wore the top three buttons of his shirt undone, showing off a gold medallion that he wore around his neck, just as he had done the day before at the Galley Cafe. When we were about six feet apart, the other one moved a couple of steps to Medallion’s right, so they had me flanked. It’s what I would have done.
I shifted my weight slightly forward to the balls of my feet. My knees were bent a little, and my left foot was a little farther forward. I held my arms down with my elbows flexed to place my hands slightly in front of my hips with the thumbs rotated up. I didn’t take up the stance consciously. After countless hours of hand-to-hand combat training, it was second nature. I noticed both of them were standing the same way. I thought that was interesting.
I said, “Hi, there.”
“Hello,” replied Medallion. “How can we help you?”
“I don’t know. I think my car might be stuck here.”
“Stuck, he says,” said the Other One. I noticed that he had a Beretta M9 holstered in plain sight at his right hip. I thought that was another interesting thing.
The ranger lady opened the kiosk door and said, “What’s going on out there?”
The Other One said, “You better stay inside.”
She looked at me. “Do I need to call the police?”
“Couldn’t hurt,” I said.
“Okay.” She closed the door.
“That’s fine,” said Medallion. “But while we wait, I do think maybe we can help you. Do you mind if I offer some advice?”
Since they were both speaking with a Spanish accent, I switched to that language. “I am always willing to listen to advice.”
He switched to Spanish too. “Stay away from the URNG.”
“Who are you guys?”
“That Valentín Vega, he is a bad man. He could get a person hurt.”
His accent was Guatemalan. I said, “Seriously, who are you?”
“I am Señior Rodriguez. My associate is Señior Lopez.” It was like saying they were Smith and Brown. “But we want to keep this conversation focused on you, Señior Cutter. We are very worried that you might become involved with Valentín Vega. You could get hurt if you do that. You might even get dead.”
“Who is going to kill me? You?”
He seemed to think about it, wrinkling his brow a little. “It is better not to talk about things that way. We would like to be your friends. We are just hoping to help you avoid some very regrettable trouble.”
Switching back to English, I said, “Trouble is my business.”
“We know what business you’re in. You should find a different client.”
“No, come on. Trouble Is My Business. You know. Philip Marlowe?”
He looked confused.
I said, “The Raymond Chandler novel? No? Seriously?”
The Other One said, “Are you trying to make fools of us?”
“Foolish is as foolish does,” I said.
I didn’t care who they were or why they had been following me. I only wanted to offend them. I wanted to fight. I wanted to hurt them or somebody, anybody, even if it was myself.
The Other One took a step forward. I smiled and made a little “come on” motion with the fingers of one hand. He reached for his gun.
“Stop,” said Medallion. “Listen.”
We all heard the approaching siren. The two Latinos didn’t seem concerned. When the police arrived, Medallion and his partner could simply say I had blocked them in for some reason, and I seemed to want a fight. Their proof was the position of my car. On the other hand, I could say they had been following me for at least two days, but of course I had no proof. It seemed best to avoid that conversation altogether.
I said, “Maybe we should finish this another time. Unless you want to stay and speak with the police?”
“Just move your car,” said Medallion.
I stepped backward, facing them as I moved away. They both did the same as they backed away from me. Moments later I had pulled out of the driveway and into the parking lot. With the Bentley no longer blocking them in, they did a U-turn and drove back out past the kiosk toward the Pacific Coast Highway. I followed them out of the lot. We passed the police cruiser coming in. At the PCH, the guys in the Suburban turned right, back toward Corona del Mar. I turned left toward Laguna Beach.
As I followed the coast, I told myself it would have been better if I had restrained my anger just a little bit and focused more on learning about the men. But I had picked up a few things. It seemed they were professionals. Amateurs would probably have stood close together for moral support. The way they had immediately stepped apart to flank me implied good training. Also, their posture as we had faced off indicated pretty clearly that they had extensive hand-to-hand combat experience.