"Please have a seat," she said. "I'll get you some wine."
She was gone for a minute and when she came back she was carrying a big jug of white wine and a glass. There was a marble-top coffee table in front of the couch, the marble marked with a large number of circular stains where glasses had been set down without coasters. She set my glass and hers on the coffee table and poured me some wine, and some for herself, holding the jug in both hands. There was no air-conditioning and the bottle was already beginning to sweat in the hot room. I had a sip of wine. It wasn't very good, but it would probably prevent plaque. Carlotta raised her glass toward me and drank some.
"Good times," she said.
"So," I said, "tell me about Jerome."
"Why?"
I didn't want to appear unsociable; I drank a little more of the jug wine. My shirt was already beginning to stick to my back.
"He and I are supposed to do a little, ah, business."
I smiled what I hoped was a cryptic smile. Susan had told me that sometimes my cryptic smile shaded off into a leer, which had shaken my confidence in it. But this time it seemed to work.
"Business?" she said.
"Yes. Him and Tino. They told me to come here."
"You know Tino?"
"Sure."
She had finished her wine already and was pouring another large, clumsy dose from the jug. When she leaned forward I could see that she wore no bra, which was much more information than I really wanted.
"Tino and Jerome and I were supposed to do a piece of business," I said, "for Jerome's boss, what'sisname?"
Carlotta was looking at me speculatively over her wine glass. Sweat added sheen to her forehead and glimmered faintly on her upper lip.
"Mister Tannenbaum," she said absently.
"Yeah, Tannenbaum, and they told me to meet them here."
"Anyone ever tell you that you're a cutie?" Carlotta said.
"Jerome and Tino just said that last night."
She smiled automatically and drank some wine. "Well you are, and don't you just know it."
"When do you expect Jerome back?" I said.
"He went to the beach for a few days," she said. "You ever fool around?"
"No. I always mean it," I said.
"Maybe you oughta," she said.
I would have been more flattered if I had the sense that she didn't proposition everyone she met. And if she wasn't drunk. And, the ugly sexist truth of the matter, if her thighs weren't flabby.
"You know where Mr. Tannenbaum lives?" I said.
"Lives? How the hell would I know where he lives? You think he invites me and Jerome over for cocktails? I never even met him."
"But he's in L.A. someplace," I said.
She drank some wine and nodded.
"Me and Jerome never get invited anyplace. We eat cheap, we drink cheap, we live in this dump and Jerome don't even pay the rent."
She began to tear up.
"Wasn't for my alimony check we couldn't even live like we do," she said.
Her wine glass was empty. She did another twohanded pour from the jug and spilled some of it on the coffee table and began to cry.
"You wanna fuck me or not," she said through the tears.
"Anyone would," I said. "But I can't."
"Why not?"
I made a cryptic gesture and smiled a cryptic smile and stood up. When I did I could see myself in the oval mirror that hung over the gas log fireplace on the far wall. My cryptic smile was not very convincing. It looked a little panicky. My face was sweaty. If I did not know and admire the owner, it was not a face I'd like very much.
"Whyn't you sit, drink some wine, have a little fun."
"I wish I could," I said.
"But you're uptight." she said.
"That's it," I said. "Thanks for the wine."
She was looking into her near-empty wine glass now, with her feet flat on the floor and her shoulders hunched as if she were cold, which was not possible in the stifling room.
"Get lost," she said.
Which I did.
Chapter 30
VINCENT DEL Rio had an estate in Bel Air where he was master of all he surveyed, and a good deal more than that. The place was about the size of Worcester, Massachusetts, and a lot better looking in its flowery green Southern-California way.
Even though I had called first, I had to do a lot of explaining to a sequence of scary-looking men of Mexican lineage as I worked my way past the gate, and past the front door, and into the courtyard of his vast white-stucco-and-red-tile home, into the presence of Vincent del Rio.
"Senor Spenser," he said.
Del Rio was wearing a white suit today with a crimson silk shirt open at the neck.
I said, "Jefe."
Del Rio smiled and sipped from a glass of iced tea. Bobby Horse was leaning against the courtyard wall with his thick arms folded. He nodded at me. I nodded back. Chollo was there, seated with del Rio under an olive tree, at a round, red wood table with a brick-colored tile top. They were playing chess. Chollo was as he had been, still medium height and slender, with his long hair in a ponytail. Even seated, he managed to look languid, which he wasn't. On the table were a pitcher of iced tea and a dish of sliced lemons, several glasses, and the chessboard.
"Sit down," del Rio said.
I sat between him and Chollo.
Chollo said, "Amigo."
I said, "Chollo."
"You want some iced tea?" del Rio said.
"Gracias."
"Cut the crap," del Rio said. "What do you want?"
He had no trace of an accent.
"Two sugars, some lemon."
Chollo pushed the pitcher over toward me.
"Help yourself," del Rio said.
I fixed myself up some iced tea and took a sip.
"Mango," I said. "Very good."
Nobody said anything. Del Rio folded his hands across his stomach and leaned back in his chair. He looked sort of stagy, like an Anglo playing a Mexican, with a Pancho Villa moustache and his dark hair slicked back.
"Family okay?" I said.
"Yes, my daughter is married now and lives in La Jolla."
"You approve?" I said.
"If I did not, it would not have happened."
"Husband in your business?" I said.
"No. He is a marine biologist."
"Does he know your line of work?" I said.
"He did not marry me," del Rio said. "You have business with me?"
A small fountain made a soft falling-water sound in one corner.
"I need two favors."
"Perhaps you're confused," del Rio said. "This is not Travelers Aid."
"One, I'm interested in a guy named Tannenbaum," I said.
Del Rio looked up from his chessboard.
"Really?" he said. "Why?"
"A guy who works for him threatened to beat me up the other night on Olympic Boulevard."
"And?"
"And he didn't," I said. "But I'd sort of like to know why."
"I can see why you would," del Rio said. "But why do I care what you'd like?"
"Because I'm a fine person?"
"Do you know the name of the man who threatened to beat you up?"
"Jerome Jefferson," I said. "Guy with him called Tino."
Del Rio shook his head. He looked at Chollo. Chollo shrugged.
We don't know them," del Rio said.
"Small-time guys," I said. "Don't waste the name players on a stiff from Boston."
Del Rio nodded.
"It is good that you understand your position here," he said.
"How about Tannenbaum?" I said. "Is he a name player?"
"Yes."
"Tell me about him."
"First," del Rio said, "you tell me what you might be doing that would come to Morris Tannenbaum's attention?"
"I'm working on a murder case," I said.
"Here?"
"Some people involved used to live here," I said. "But the murder was out in the desert, place called Potshot."
Del Rio moved one of the chess pieces.
"Is there a connection?"
"I don't know."
"Of course you don't," del Rio said.
Chollo moved a chess piece. Del Rio studied the move. I don't play chess. I had no idea what they were doing.