“Miss Drazen?” Pam sounded concerned.
“Did you get me Arnie?”
“Ten fifteen. Are you all right? You turned white as a sheet.”
“I’m going to go catch up on my email. Hold my calls.”
I didn’t check my emails at all. I wrote Arnie a short, concise letter of resignation. I was done wasting my life with anything I didn’t love.
Arnie kept me far longer than fifteen minutes, trying to work out consultancies and flexible hours, more pay, a promotion, a new title. He asked me where I was going. When I said, “Nowhere,” he believed me and wished me luck in the most sincere voice I’d ever heard him use.
I saw Daniel’s team before I saw him: a handful of men in suits huddled by the window and a woman I recognized. Short, slim, with a professional dark bob, and sensible shoes. Clarice. From her outfit, no one would ever guess she liked being called a filthy whore while sucking a taken man’s cock.
I felt absolutely nothing about her presence, and that was a relief in itself.
“Hi, everyone,” I said as I approached. “I’m ready. Who’s joining me?”
“Just me,” Daniel said. “It’s my only chance to get rid of these guys.”
Clarice grimaced in a valiant attempt at a smile. I led Daniel into the glass conference room where Antonio had threatened to kiss me in front of everyone. We sat at a corner of the desk, me at the head and him at the side.
“You rang?” I said.
“How are you?” he asked. “Besides in no mood for small talk.”
“I’m fine. I see you hired Clarice back.”
“She was the best speechwriter I ever had. I figured if you weren’t coming back to me…”
“Makes sense.” It did. It made all the sense in the world. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell her anything about what happened between us or about my relationships.”
“You said it was over with you and Spinelli.”
“So? She has a big mouth, and every thought she’s ever had is on her face.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I know. Honestly, there’s no pillow talk because there’s no pillow. I have no time right now for any of it. Did you see the latest polling?”
“Heard about it.”
“It’s partly Clarice,” he said. “She knows her job. But it’s also taking action against crime. Caution doesn’t play. That’s a fact.”
“I would have talked you out of it.”
“Yeah, well, there you have it.”
I didn’t realize I was still attached to my work on his campaign until that underhanded non-insult. “Ouch, Dan.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to give you a hard time.”
“Oh, good.”
He leaned forward, getting into his business posture. I saw that his fingernails were cleanly cut, and his hair didn’t flop, and his hands didn’t seek purchase on old habits or tics.
“You left some notes behind with Bill and Phyllis,” he said. “You had a lot of questions about a cluster of buildings in Mount Washington. They brought it to my attention a couple of days ago.”
I remembered how to tamp down my emotions and how to control my expression. “I didn’t find anything. That’s why I didn’t bring it up.”
“I know. But some of that property was managed by a law firm with one client who was killed by the current owner,” he said.
“You lost me on the killing part.”
“I’m going to let a judge decide that. In the meantime, I’m getting together a warrant. I wanted to let you know ahead of time. If you left a tube of lipstick there, or a tampon or whatever, you’d better go get it.”
I laughed a little to let him know what I thought of his warning.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re protecting me?”
“Yes, I am.”
“They’re not going to forget Catholic Charities. The press might have brushed it off as an interesting photo op of nothing, but if my stuff is on that property, dots get connected. How would it look if it comes out that you sat on your hands for almost a month while a war started? It’s going to look like you swept it under the rug because I was involved.”
He set his face in a look he’d never given me before. It lacked any compassion or grace. It was the look that scared witnesses. “I want to be clear, so I’m only saying this once. This is the last time I will speak to you as an insider. This is your last concession. If I need to subpoena you, I will. If you have a shred of DNA over there, remove it, because once I walk out of here, I won’t hesitate to drag you down with him.”
I stood and held out my hand. “Thank you for your consideration, Mister Brower.”
Instead of shaking it, he held my face and kissed my right cheek then my left. Though Daniel was as American as apple pie, it felt like a final good-bye.
thirty-eight.
Did I have hours? Days? Was the time between now and Daniel’s warrant measured in minutes? And what did I want to do about it?
I put the top down on my dented car as I drove home, as if the extra smog intake would clear my head. But the 10 freeway at rush hour was no place to get my head together.
Antonio had dumped me in no uncertain terms. I owed him nothing. If he got dragged into a black and white tomorrow, it would have nothing at all to do with me. But that image of him in cuffs, for anything, made me pull off onto Crenshaw.
I still had his phone. I swallowed my pride and dialed, heart pounding from the first ring, then the second, then the voicemail announcement. I hung up. I didn’t know if I was being ignored or if some smaller insult was being hurled, and I didn’t want to think about it.
I plugged the phone into my stereo and listened to Puccini. Could I call East Side Motors? Should I just go? It was about five fifteen. The drive would take me a good forty minutes.
I headed east. When I passed downtown, I’d decide.
I saw smoke on the horizon as I went east on the 10. Wildfires were a fact of Southern California life, especially at points north and east of Los Angeles, so I thought nothing of it. Then the traffic on Figueroa was diverted to Marmion, and I heard sirens and saw flashing lights on the flats, not the wooded hills. I parked and walked a block south and two east, smoke choking me. A crowd had gathered at the curb, and the police were hard-pressed to keep them safe from their own curiosity.
“There are underground gas tanks,” one cop said to a guy who wanted to cross the street. “They blow, and you’re gonna be grease. So get back.”
The man got back, and I stepped in his place for half a second to confirm what I knew to be true. East Side Motors was up in flames.
I walked to my car. I knew where Antonio’s house was, more or less, but it was very close to the shop, and the fire trucks had blocked off that street. He wasn’t getting out without being seen, and neither was I.
I scrolled through my phone, the one without Puccini and Verdi. Did I have Paulie’s number? Zo’s? Would any of them listen to me or would they just be relieved I was gone? I needed someone I could trust. Someone who had an emotional enough connection to Antonio that I could count on their loyalty.
I felt fit to burst. I needed to tell Antonio what Daniel had told me. I didn’t need to make sure I didn’t have any tissues at his house. I didn’t need to clear myself of malfeasance. I needed to make sure I’d done everything to get him out of Daniel's way.
It occurred to me late, almost too late. Too late for me to claim innocence.
I was bait. I was doing exactly what I was supposed to do: going to Antonio and leading the authorities right to him.
“Daniel, you fucking bastard.”
I’d never felt so used, so whored in my life. I drove away as fast as I could with the top down, west on Marmion. Was my phone tracked? Who knew what Daniel had done while we were together. If he felt no compunction in tracking my credit card purchases, why wouldn’t he track my phone?