A big-bodied blond woman came up to Draper. “What’s the starting pay?”
“Four thousand and eighty-three dollars a month for a sworn deputy,” he said. “Support staff and technical start around two thousand.”
“So you don’t get rich working for the sheriffs.”
“Who told you you’d get rich?”
“I want riches.”
“Why?”
“I believe I deserve them.”
“You deserve nothing.”
Draper saw Grgich look his way.
“What I mean,” he said, “is that few people get rich working for other people. And there are other rewards in law enforcement.”
She shrugged and walked off.
Emblematic, he thought. There was no shortage of desire for riches out there, but so few people had the intelligence to find a way to accumulate wealth, and fewer still had the drive and energy to make a profitable idea real.
“So, what’s the starting pay?”
The question was delivered to mock the pugnacious tone that the big woman had used, but it was a man’s voice. Draper recognized it. He looked up at the boy. He was tall and built well, wore his black hair long and a neat goatee. The pretty, red-haired musician was with him. She wore a long black coat, jeans that were worn thin at her thighs, and red cowboy boots. She studied Draper from behind her sunglasses.
“Well, it hasn’t gone up in the last thirty seconds,” said Draper, with a smile.
“Four grand to risk your life every day?”
“And guess what? If you don’t get fired, you get raises. Are you a student?” asked Draper.
“Was. I can’t sit still all day and not learn one thing I don’t already know.”
“So you know it all?”
The boy looked hard at him. “I know more than some bored reservist like you.”
Draper stared at him but the kid wouldn’t look away. Instead he either smiled or smirked-it was hard to tell. Draper was aware of Grgich’s interest and chose to ignore him.
“Try me,” said the boy.
“Come on,” said the musician.
“No,” said the boy. “Ask me something and see if I know the answer. It’s got to be something you know the answer to, not some bullshit fantasy question like a second-grader would come up with.”
Draper sat back and crossed his arms. He sensed Grgich’s critical attention but didn’t care. Last night he had played solitaire with a deck of cards before going to bed. “What famous king is represented by the king of hearts?”
“Charlemagne. The king of diamonds is Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great is the king of clubs, and the king of spades is David.”
“Where is the first historical reference to a place called California?”
“A Spanish novel written in 1500. Montalvo. My mother was a history teacher, so you’re shit out of luck on stuff like that.”
“He’s not lying,” said the redhead.
Draper laughed. “Okay, okay. A way to measure time that is based on the motion of Earth?”
“Sidereal time. Nobody uses it but astronomers.”
“Then what is an astronomical unit?”
“The Earth’s average distance from the sun-ninety-two million, nine hundred and sixty thousand miles.”
“Frontolysis.”
“The breakup of a storm front. Frontogenesis is the formation of one.”
“The Mojave green rattlesnake has what type of venom?”
“A unique mix of hemotoxic and neurotoxic. It’s the only crotalid that has such a venom.”
“He used to collect snakes and lizards when he was a boy,” said the musician. “Made up a whole list of the Latin names.”
“What are you”-Draper smiled-“his acolyte? You follow this kid around and worship him?”
“Mostly it’s he who worships me.”
Grgich laughed aloud, and scooted his chair a small bit closer to Draper.
Draper watched the girl smile and wondered again what her eyes looked like behind the sunglasses. Then, as if on cue, she propped them up on her head and looked down at him with lovely blue eyes. He searched them for weakness while he smiled back.
“You should obviously know the average number of hairs on a redhead’s head,” said Draper.
“Ninety thousand,” said the boy. “Blondes have the densest growth, with one hundred and twenty thousand. I read that magazine article, too. But I wondered how they did the counts.”
“Quit showing off, you dolts,” said the girl. She had a smoky voice and a creamy complexion and a strong neck. “You’re supposed to be recruiting us. So, do you like being a deputy?”
“I love it,” said Draper.
“What about the danger and low pay?”
“There’s less danger and more money than you think. Do you like being a musician? What instrument do you play?”
“Guitar, piano and harp.”
“Harp. Like an angel?”
“I’ve never seen an angel play one.”
He stood and offered his hand to the boy. “I’m Coleman Draper.”
“Bradley Jones. This is Erin McKenna.”
“Last question for you, boy genius,” said Draper. “Are you even slightly interested in a career with the LASD?”
“I’m slightly interested in just about everything.”
“We should talk.”
“We are talking.”
“After this thing.”
Bradley Jones checked his watch. “We’ll be back.”
They were back at sundown. Draper was collecting things from the table and putting them into one of Sergeant Grgich’s boxes. Grgich ignored him and made a show of stepping in front of Draper to shake hands with Bradley and Erin and make conversation in an overly loud voice.
Draper drove them to a bar out on Garvey in Monterey Park. It wasn’t a deputy’s hangout and it wasn’t quite a dive but Draper noted Bradley’s unimpressed expression as they walked past the drinkers at the bar and got a table in the back.
The waitress was older and she sized up Bradley for an ID check but Draper vouched for the age of both his guests. She took their order, then went to another table. Draper watched Bradley watch her go. Erin glanced at both men and Draper held her eye. He was still looking for the weakness in her.
They sat in silence for a moment. Draper looked at the two youngsters before him-Erin looked a couple of years older but she couldn’t have been much past twenty-one or twenty-two-and even at his own age of twenty-nine he felt drawn to their youth and potential.
“Find us some music, would you?” asked Bradley.
“Sure,” said Erin. “I’ll do that for you.”
“I love you but I don’t deserve you.”
Draper heard no sarcasm in Bradley’s voice, no condescension or hidden meaning. Draper recognized the words as something he would say to Alexia or Juliet. They were the kind of words he had spoken all his life, the most important words on Earth: the ones that people wanted to hear.
“I’ve got something cooking, honey,” said Erin. “I’ll be right there at the bar.”
She kissed Bradley’s cheek and stood and Draper watched her walk to the bar and glide onto a stool and swing her purse onto the bar top. She had left her long black coat over the chair next to Bradley so Draper got a better look at her shape. She was painfully beautiful and the sight of her sitting alone at a bar on a Saturday afternoon amazed him.
“Fantastic,” he said.
“Told you. I really don’t deserve her.”
“No. Clearly not.” Draper laughed and drank. Erin went to the jukebox, then back to her stool. She dug a pen from her purse and took a bar napkin from the stack, and Draper watched her scribble something down on it. A moment later the Stones were happily yapping away about making sweet love while the rain came down. Two bikers clomped in and sat at the bar down from Erin. One was tall and one was wide. Bradley stared at them and the wide one stared back.
“She’s writing music right now?” asked Draper.
“She’s always writing music. She writes almost everything the Cheater Slicks play.”
“I’m very impressed.”
“I knew you would be.”
Draper clinked his glass with Bradley’s, then set it down and positioned it perfectly in the center of the cardboard coaster. He watched the bikers move down the bar and sit on either side of Erin, and Bradley watched them, too. Draper spoke loudly now, playing to Erin.