"Los Alamitos? You're sure?"
She flicked his business card again. "Frank said Los Alamitos had better freeway access. He was always complaining about the traffic."
"Thank you very much. Could I have your name, just in case I find him?"
She walked around to the driver's side of her car. "That's all right, Mr. Johnson, you work hard enough for your money. I hope you find him. He didn't seem like a bad person. Maybe the inheritance will help him straighten his life out."
"Thank you, miss. I wish everyone I met was as kind as you." The Engineer watched her drive away, then headed toward his car at the end of the street, trying to restrain his excitement, his heart fluttering in his chest as if it were going to burst free. He unlocked his car, got behind the wheel. Little Miss Teacher maintained perfect eye contact and kept her voice casual, but she was lying. There was a little park down the street, just a patch of brown grass, a couple of graffiti-etched benches, and swarms of pigeons. The Engineer was going to pick up a loaf of bread and stake out the park. Pigeons were filthy, disease-ridden scavengers that shit indiscriminately, but people opened up to a man feeding birds. What did that say about humanity? Claire kept her eyes on the road as she pulled her phone out of her purse. She crossed Studebaker, took the entrance ramp to the 22 freeway, speeding now, driving aggressively, which she rarely did. Her class at Cal State, Fullerton, started at ten o'clock, but she didn't need to speed. The conversation with Earl Johnson was bothering her. That strange, creepy man had put her on guard immediately, and the more he talked, the more defensive she'd become. She forced herself to drive at the legal limit.
She was still angry at Frank, hurt and humiliated by his erratic behavior, but there was no way in the world that she would have told Earl Johnson where he lived. She had gone beyond mere denial, however; she had actively lied to the man. She didn't feel guilty about it, either.
There was a connection between her and Frank, a mutual attraction, try as they might to deny it. The good ones, the interesting ones, they were always trouble, but she was bored with the worm boys in the department, assistant professors desperate for approval, eager to please. No thanks. Then there was Frank, who sent out conflicting signals, forced her to make the first move, but was great fun in bed. There was no way Frank sold insurance. She had known that for a long time, imagining all kinds of interesting reasons why he would make up something like that. Maybe he had a trust fund, or an ex-wife who paid him alimony. He didn't seem to be involved with anything illegal. She dialed Frank's number. Earl Johnson had given her the perfect excuse to call him.
The number rang and rang, then finally went dead. She tried it again, with the same result. No message. No voice mail. She was half-tempted to turn around and go back to his apartment and wake him, or leave a message taped to his door, in case he was still incommunicado. She kept driving. She hated being late for class, and she had sent Earl Johnson off chasing his tail. Today was a full day, two Elementary Psych classes at Fullerton, and an Adolescent Behavior class way up at Cal State, Northridge. She wouldn't get home until late this evening. Time to tell Frank about Earl Johnson then. She was going to beat on his door until he answered, make a complete ass of herself if she had to. Frank would probably laugh, tell her she had just turned away his big windfall. She smiled, dialed his number again with one hand.
39
"Krino says he can move all the Viagra-crank combo we can deliver," said Arturo, seated at the table in the back room of the Huntington Beach store. "Jason is late again, second time this month." He shut his new PDA, looked across at Clark. "Business is slow, according to him, but I think Vlad and I should pay Jason a visit tomorrow."
Vlad fidgeted beside him.
Arturo pulled a manila envelope out of his suit jacket, tossed it to Missy. "Forty-seven thousand. Everybody except Jason is up-to-date."
Missy slipped the envelope into her purse without opening it.
"I've been asking around about Guillermo, but he's gone completely underground," said Arturo. "I've heard some rumors that don't make a lot of sense. I'll keep checking."
"You do that, dude," said Clark.
"We can handle whatever Guillermo is up to, right, Vlad?" said Arturo.
Vlad didn't answer.
Arturo reached into the box of powdered doughnuts on the table. "I shouldn't do this."
"Then don't," said Vlad. It felt like wires inside him were sparking.
Arturo looked at him. "Easy for you to say. I'd kill for your metabolism." He put the doughnut back, licked his fingers.
Cecil grabbed one of the doughnuts, took a big bite, powdered sugar drifting onto his pants. He had a new haircut, a flattop with the front waxed up. It made him look even more like a pig, a bristly red boar with nasty eyes.
Clark laid four Baggies on the table, pushed half of them to Arturo, half to Vlad. "Here's the latest product line. A new batch of neo-X, which should give a longer high, and a Vicodin analogue that's cheaper to make than the real thing. Tell them we want feedback by next week."
Arturo picked up the Baggies, looked at Vlad. "You sick again, mi hermano?"
Vlad had closed the store early, turned off the lights in front, and waited for Arturo to arrive. Missy and Clark were quiet, but Cecil was making jokes and doing karate moves like the fat Elvis. Vlad had begged them to give Arturo another chance, but Clark just shook his head, said for him to be ready for when Cecil brought Arturo his diet cola. "Cecil's going to shake up the can, so when Arturo pops the top, it foams all over," Clark said. "That's when you make your move. Arturo will be yelling and brushing soda off himself, and you just stand up, like you're going to help, and you shoot him. One bullet to the back of the head and we can move on. I can count on you, can't I, Vlad?"
"Why don't you come home with me when we're done here?" Arturo said to Vlad. "I'll have Fortuna make you some soup."
"Fetch us some cold drinks, Cecil," said Missy. "Maybe that will perk Vlad up."
"How's that new PDA working out for you?" asked Clark.
"They didn't want to exchange the old one," said Arturo, "but I made it clear that the customer is always right." He waved the PDA. "I spent half the morning inputting information: diet and workout program, calendar-"
"It's never too late," blurted Vlad.
They all stared at him; then Missy laughed, her voice hurting Vlad's ears.
"You talking about me and the stock market?" asked Arturo. "Trust me, it's too late to make it back. I'm into bonds now, strictly investment-grade corporates and T-bills. No risk for me. I got enough stress in my life."
"Everybody makes mistakes." Vlad tried to stand, to hustle Arturo out of the store, but his legs weren't working. It was if they belonged to someone else, someone he didn't know, someone who wanted to stay sitting. "What's important is to admit it."
"I admitted it." Arturo plucked a doughnut from the box. "That's why I'm in bonds. I'm no stock picker. You ask me, brokers are the biggest crooks there is. They ought to make dope legal and buying stocks a felony."
"Don't say that," Clark joked. "You're going to put us all out of business."
Cecil walked over from the refrigerator, his arms full of cans and bottles. He set an Evian in front of Missy, a Pepsi for Clark, Cherry Coke for Vlad, and a Diet Pepsi for Arturo.
"I don't drink Diet Pepsi, you idiot." Arturo tossed the can back to him. "Diet Coke. It's been Diet Coke since the first time you asked me. What's that been-two years, and you still can't remember? Doesn't anything penetrate that brain of yours?"
Missy laughed again, louder now, as Cecil sulked back to the refrigerator. She took a long drink from her bottled water, watching Vlad.