“Who put it there?”
“We’re not a hundred percent sure but we think it was the DEA agent. Marco.”
At this inopportune moment the sushi chef lifted a large leaf-shaped plate over the counter and put it down in front of us. Five sliced rolls were displayed beautifully with pickled ginger and the hot wasabi paste that my daughter called green death. I nodded my thanks to the chef, and Kendall just stared at the food while considering what I just told her.
“I debated whether to even tell you,” I said. “But I thought you should know. Tonight I took precautions. I walked down the hill from my house and caught a cab. They won’t know I’m with you. My car’s sitting out in front of my house.”
“How do you know you’re not being followed, too?”
“I’ve had people working on that all day. It looks like it’s just the electronic tracker.”
If that brought any measure of comfort to her she didn’t show it.
“Can’t you just take it off and get rid of it?” she asked.
“That’s an option,” I said, nodding. “But there are other options. We might be able to use it against them. You know, feed them information that will be confusing or wrong. We’re still thinking about it, so for now it’s still on there. Why don’t you eat some of this?”
“I’m not sure I’m hungry anymore.”
“Come on, you worked hard all day. You said you were starving.”
Reluctantly she poured a dollop of soy sauce into one of the small dishes and mixed in a dab of wasabi paste. She then dipped a slice of one of the tuna rolls and ate it. She liked it and immediately sampled another. I was useless with chopsticks so I used my fingers to take a slice of California roll. I skipped the wasabi.
Two bites later and I was back to business.
“Kendall, I know I asked you this yesterday but I need to do it again. This DEA agent, James Marco, are you sure you never had dealings with him? He’s a dark-haired guy about forty now. Has a mustache, mean eyes. He—”
“If he’s DEA, you don’t have to describe him. I never had any dealings with the DEA.”
I nodded.
“Okay, and you can’t think of any reason you might be on his radar in regard to Gloria Dayton, right?”
“No, no reason.”
“You told me yesterday that one of the services you provided was to bring cocaine. Gloria and Trina got theirs from Moya. Where did you get yours?”
Kendall slowly finished the piece of California roll she was eating and then put her chopsticks down on the little stand next to her plate.
“I really don’t like talking about this,” she said. “I think you brought me here so I would feel cornered and have to answer.”
“No,” I said quickly. “That’s not true and I don’t want you to feel cornered. I’m sorry if I’m pushing this too far. I just want to be sure you’re in the clear, that’s all.”
She wiped her mouth with her napkin. I had a feeling the dinner was over.
“I need to go to the restroom,” she said.
“Okay,” I said.
I stood up and pushed my stool back so she would have room for egress.
“Are you coming back?” I asked.
“Yes, I’ll be back,” she said curtly.
I sat back down and watched her as she made her way to the hallway in the back. I knew she could leave through a rear door and I wouldn’t know it for ten minutes. But I had faith.
I pulled out my phone to see if my daughter had answered my text but she hadn’t. I thought about texting her again, maybe sending her a photo of the California roll from Katsuya but decided not to push it.
Kendall returned in less than five minutes and slid silently back onto her stool. Before I could speak, she made a statement that she had apparently worked out in the restroom.
“I got the product that I brought to clients from Hector Moya but it was indirectly from him. I bought it from Gloria and Trina at their cost. I never once met their dealer or crossed paths with a DEA agent while I was in that life. It’s something I’ve left behind and I don’t want to have to talk about it with you or anybody else again.”
“That’s perfectly fine, Kendall. I under—”
“When you asked me to dinner I was very happy. I thought… I thought it was for a different reason and I was excited. So that’s why I reacted the way I did when you asked about the drugs.”
“I’m sorry I messed things up. But believe me, I was excited, too, when you said you would meet me. So why don’t we forget about all the work stuff and eat some sushi?”
I gestured toward the platter. Most of our order was still there. She smiled tentatively and nodded. I smiled back.
“Then we need more sake,” I said.
25
On the way back home I decided to let the cab take me all the way to my door. I was tired from the work and news of the day and the hike up the trail at Fryman Canyon. I figured even if someone was watching my house and car, he would only be able to puzzle over where I’d been for the last four hours. I paid the fare, got out, and climbed the stairs to the front door.
At the top I paused to look out across the iridescent landscape. It was a clear night and I could see all the way to the lighted towers in Century City. It reminded me that somewhere near those towers in the lowlands was where Sly Fulgoni Jr. made his pitiful stand in the land of law.
I turned and looked over my other shoulder toward downtown. Farther away, the lights seemed less vibrant, having to fight their way through the smog. I could, however, see the glow of lights from Chavez Ravine — a home game for the Dodgers, who had started the season abysmally.
I opened the door and went in. I was tempted to put on the radio and listen to the ageless Vin Scully call the game but I was too tired. I went to the kitchen to get a bottle of water, pausing for a moment to look at the postcard from Hawaii on the fridge. I then went directly to my bedroom to crash.
Two hours later I was on a black horse galloping out of control across a dark landscape lit only by cracks of lightning when my phone woke me.
I was in bed, still fully clothed. I stared at the ceiling, trying to remember the dream when the phone rang again. I reached into my pocket for it and answered without looking at the display. For some reason I expected it to be my daughter, and a tone of desperation infected my hello.
“Haller?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“Sly Fulgoni. Are you all right?”
The deeper timbre in the voice told me I was talking to Sly Sr., calling in from Victorville again.
“I’m fine. How’d you get this number?”
“Valenzuela gave it to me. He doesn’t like you too much, Haller. Something about unfulfilled promises.”
I sat up on the side of the bed and looked at the clock. It was two ten.
“Yeah, well, fuck him,” I said. “Why are you calling me, Sly? I’m coming up to see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, not so fast, smart guy. I don’t like you threatening me. Or my son, for that matter. So we need to get a few things straight before you make the long drive up here.”
“Hold on.”
I put the phone down on the bed and turned on the bed lamp. I opened the bottle of water I had retrieved before going to sleep and drank almost half of it down. It helped clear my head.
I then picked up the phone again.
“You there, Sly?”
“Where else am I gonna go?”
“Right. So what things do we need to straighten out?”
“First of all, this co-counsel bullshit you laid on young Sly. Not going to fly, Haller. Moya’s ours and we’re not sharing.”
“Have you really thought this out?”
“What’s to think out? We’ve got it covered.”